


Strings

by lantur



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Drama, Dubious Consent, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:19:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 194,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3222104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lantur/pseuds/lantur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU as of Book 1, Episode 9, "When Extremes Meet." Amon never shows up, and Tarrlok succeeds in his plan to escape Republic City and take Korra with him as a hostage. Originally posted on tumblr and fanfiction.net under the same title and username.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

The vision of Republic City as it was forty-two years ago fades away, and Korra closes her eyes, her head spinning. “Aang,” she whispers, drained. All the breath leaves her body in an exhausted sigh, and she leans back against the wall of her cage, gripping her head in frustration and closing her eyes tight. This whole time, Aang had been trying to warn her about Tarrlok, and she had been too stupid to see the truth. If she had been able to get in touch with him earlier, through meditation (as Tenzin had always been urging her to do) _none_ of this would have happened. She would be at home on Air Temple Island, rather than abducted and locked up in a tiny box in the middle of nowhere. 

The sound of the door slamming open and shut jolts her out of the brief spell of self-loathing, and Korra scrambles to her feet hastily, craning her neck in an attempt to see out of the top of the box. The smallest ray of hope blossoms inside her, that maybe her prayers have been answered and Tenzin or Beifong found out the truth and discovered Tarrlok’s little mountain hideout—

But then that hope is dashed when she sees that it’s actually Tarrlok, storming down the creaking stairs, and there’s a brief moment of confusion - shouldn’t he be at work right now? Unless…

"My life is a disaster now, thanks to you," he snarls, voice thick with barely repressed fury. His footfalls are heavy and his breathing is erratic, as he makes his way closer to her prison. 

Something has gone wrong with his master plan, obviously, and a satisfied little smirk touches the corners of Korra’s lips. _What a drama queen._ But what goes around comes around. It’s about time that he got what was coming to him. “So, your little bloodbending secret’s out?” she asks, a wave of vindictive pleasure sweeping over her at the thought. 

Tarrlok just growls like an angry wolf, the few remaining vestiges of his former cool composure shattered, and it sounds like he’s stomping around the basement in agitation. It’s all the answer Korra needs…and it reminds her of the other answer she had received today. “And I know how you were able to bloodbend me without a full moon,” she begins, making no effort to conceal the disgust in her voice. “You’re Yakone’s son, aren’t you?”

The sound of Tarrlok’s footsteps abruptly stops. He sighs, after a few moments, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low and tightly controlled. “I _was_ his son. But in order to win Republic City, I had to become someone else. My father failed because he tried to rule the city from its rotten underbelly.” He pauses, the anger getting the best of him. “My plan was perfect. I was to be the city’s savior, but you - you ruined everything!”

Like all Water Tribe children, she had been taught never to bait or approach an injured animal. _They look vulnerable and defeated,_ her father would always tell her, _but they’re still desperate to survive, and that makes them twice as vicious when they snap._ Perhaps the same principle applies here, but she’s too carried away in reveling in Tarrlok’s pain to take heed. It’s an exhilarating feeling - sweet revenge - knowing that regardless of the circumstances, _she_ is the one directly responsible for his fall. 

"Forget it, Tarrlok," Korra says coldly. "It’s over. Everybody knows what you are now. They’ll come after you, and you have nowhere to go." 

Footsteps, again, and suddenly, her chest tightens with foreboding. She can practically feel the wheels turning in his head.

"Oh, no," Tarrlok replies softly, dangerously, and it makes her cold all over, in a way that only Amon’s voice had, until now. "No, I’ll escape, and start a new life…and you are coming as my hostage." 

It takes a few moments for his last words to sink in, and Korra blinks, stunned. She takes a step back, the _flight_ part of her subconscious fight or flight instinct kicking in, but she just collides, hard, with the back wall of the box. Her mind explodes in tumult and confusion, and she punches a massive burst of flame at the opposite wall, out of sheer panic. It’s futile - the fire just bounces off the wall and ricochets around the tiny, confined space, searing her skin with its heat. 

"You can’t do this!" Korra yells, her voice cracking with emotion. The place that Tarrlok had chosen to hide her was unexpectedly close to Republic City, close enough that it was possiblethat Tenzin and the others could find her. But if he takes her away - Tenzin can’t leave Republic City, Naga can’t swim across an entire ocean, her mom and dad and Mako and Bolin don’t have the resources to search for her, Beifong is just one person -

"You’ll never get away with it!" she tries, anyway, hoping in vain to appeal to some sense of self-preservation - because really, she’s never heard of _anyone_ who’s ever successfully captured and held the Avatar for longer than a few days.

 _But then again,_ a small, dark voice speaks up inside her, _those were fully realized Avatars, not failures, half-baked Avatars in training, who can’t even get into the Avatar State._

Tarrlok actually laughs, and it’s just as unsettling as that inner voice. She can tell that the same thought has occurred to him. “Oh, I can. And I will.”

The lock clicks before she’s ready for it, and the cell door swings open. Korra lunges forward, her fist igniting with flame again, but before it can even blossom and burst forth, Tarrlok raises his hand, his fingers twitching in that terrible, unnatural way. She fights against his control with every fiber of her being, even more than she had last time, but the flame still dies. 

Korra’s muscles, tendons, and ligaments all seize up violently, flooding her body with crippling pain that leaves her utterly paralyzed. Even the tears that well up in her eyes don’t spill over, instead blurring her vision with a watery haze, and pure, unadulterated hatred rises in her chest like bile. Even Amon hadn’t made her feel this powerless.

Through the tears, Korra can faintly make out the slightly yellowed piece of paper that Tarrlok holds in one hand as he advances toward her. She only has time for the briefest moment of confusion before he strikes, as quickly as a snake, his fingers digging into pressure points at her arm, back, neck—

Korra crumples to the ground, the bloodbending’s hold on her abruptly released. She feels hollow and empty in a different way now, stripped, and she stares up at Tarrlok incredulously. She wills her legs to move, to curl under her and push her up, so she can at least try to make a run for it, but it feels like her muscles have turned to water. “You - you blocked my chi?”

He sneers, dropping the diagram of human anatomy and chi points, which had evidently been ripped out of some book. “Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me, Avatar.” Tarrlok pulls her up roughly, his hand curling around the back of her neck. The diagram, lying discarded on the floor, reminds her of lessons with Master Katara; reminds her that enough pressure to certain points at the back of the neck can cause instant unconsciousness, coma, even death.

"Move," Tarrlok orders sharply. "This might be a struggle for you, but don’t try anything rash. You _will_ regret it.”

It kills her, acting like a dog on a leash, but for the moment, at least, she has no other choice. And it beats the trip down here, where he had used his bloodbending to turn her into a puppet. Korra lets him guide her out of the cell and up the basement stairs, and as the upper level of the house slowly comes into view, she wishes bitterly that, in some freak coincidence, Amon and the Equalists had managed to follow Tarrlok here. Even the Equalists couldn’t face the two of them together. If they concentrated on Tarrlok, she could escape, somehow.

But her hopes are futile, again. The upper level of the decrepit house in the mountains is empty and silent as the grave. She’s not usually a skittish person, but it’s an eerie place, dark, largely empty, and fallen into disrepair. There are cobwebs on the corners of the hallway and the floorboards creak with every step Korra takes, and she thinks she sees a rat scurry into a small hole in the wall. Tarrlok stops in front of one of the closed doors and opens it, pushing her into a dusty, obviously long-abandoned bedroom, before locking the door behind them.

All of the muscles in Korra’s body tense up in preparation for a fight, her gaze rapidly jumping around the room. Her palms are wet with cold sweat and her heart is beating abnormally fast, and the fear she feels now - at considering why Tarrlok has bought her here, to this bedroom, of all places - is unlike anything she’s ever felt before. But there’s a heavy, ornate lamp on a side table she can use for a bludgeoning tool, and if she has to, she can tear the old mirror away from the dresser and hit him with it. There’s a pillow on the bed that can easily be used to smother somebody, and the clothes in the closet can serve the same purpose. 

Tarrlok crosses the room in a few quick strides, picking up a long garment bag from where it lies draped across the back of a chair. He tosses it at her, and Korra catches it on instinct. “What’s this?” she asks suspiciously, and then regrets it in the next moment, when he gives her a deadpan look.

"A live tiger seal, obviously."

Korra bites the inside of her cheek so hard that she almost draws blood, tearing at the plastic cover as viciously as she can and imagining that it’s Tarrlok’s face she’s gouging open instead. Finally, she’s confronted with a fur-lined Water Tribe dress just like the one her mom has, except that this one is royal purple, and she eyes it, confused. 

"I think it’s suitable for a recent immigrant from the Northern Water Tribe," Tarrlok says, by way of explanation, as he searches through the closet. "Don’t you?"

Korra stares, speechless. _Spirits, he’s really going through with this._ “Look,” she bursts out, finally, inching closer to the lamp. “You can’t make me do this!”

Tarrlok bloodbends her again without even turning around, dragging her away from the lamp and sending her flying to the other side of the room as if she weighs nothing more than a rag doll. “Clearly,” he replies calmly, “I can. Now, _you_ can either do this the easy way or the hard way.”

The threat makes her hair stand on end, but Korra stands her ground, bracing herself against any impending bloodbending strikes. “I am not going to pay the price for _your_ mistake,” she says, unable to keep her voice from trembling with anger. “I’mnot the one responsible for everything that happened. That was all you. You brought this on yourself!”

The fury Tarrlok feels at her words is almost as intense as it had been the night of their last confrontation, when the Avatar had actually dared to compare him to Amon, and he turns around to find her glaring at him fearlessly. “I did not,” he replies, struggling to control his temper, and keep himself from bloodbending her into a state where she will be in no condition to argue.

"You did, because you were the one who started it!" Korra accuses, but she takes a small, subconscious step backward. " _You_ attacked _me_ in your office. I was just defending myself!”

"It was your defiance and refusal to cooperate that drove me to it," he snaps. "And the fact that you daredcompare me to Amon, even though I’ve been fighting twice as much as you have to protect the city from him and his group of terrorists—"

"You _are_ just as extreme as he is! Look at what you’re doing now!” Korra yells back, incensed. “No matter what you do to me, I’m not going to take it back!”

Tarrlok’s fingers curl into white-knuckled fists. “Has all of this taught you nothing?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous. “If you had just fallen into line when I politely asked you to, _several_ times, both of our lives would have been proceeding as normal right now, rather than falling apart. You’re just too proud to admit—”

"It has nothing to do with pride!" Korra steps forward, and he’s not sure whether it’s just his imagination, or if, for a split second, her eyes flash the ethereal blue of the Avatar State. "Your policies were oppressing the non-benders of Republic City! I have a duty to them too, and I will never, _ever_ turn my back on people who need me!”

"I am sick and tired of your defiance, Avatar! You will cooperate, or—"

"Or what?" Korra fires back, more combative than anybody temporarily stripped of their bending and rendered a generally powerless opponent has the right to be. "You’ll hurt me? I don’t give a damn. I’m not going down without a fight." 

They glare at each other, at an impasse, and just the _sight_ of her, the cause of his tremendous fall from power and grace, makes Tarrlok burn with fury that’s getting harder and harder to repress by the minute. The unexpected thought crosses his mind, that with very little effort, he _can_ break her, he can teach her a lesson that she won’t ever forget, punish her for all the havoc she’s caused—

Tarrlok pushes the idea away in shock and revulsion, and it’s a struggle to hide how unsettled it leaves him. He’s never had such an uncharacteristic impulse before, and it’s clear now that coming to this house had been a mistake. It’s bought out the worst in him, and he should know better; the things he had witnessed and experienced growing up—

He can almost feel his mother’s sad, reproachful gaze on his back. _I am not Yakone,_ he reminds himself, shaken. _I am not Yakone._

But the wary look on Korra’s face as she eyes him is painfully reminiscent of a hundred other confrontations he had witnessed in this room, long ago, and Tarrlok is suddenly too weary to want to do this any longer. “…Just put on the dress,” he says flatly, unable to bear looking at her for another instant. “We don’t have any time to waste on unproductive arguments. I’ll remind you, again, that you can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours.” 

Korra’s fingers curl into fists, and the rage boiling inside her is so powerful that she longs to breathe a torrent of fire at him. She has the suspicion that _the hard way_ involves him bloodbending her into changing her clothes, and the thought makes her stomach turn. “Fine,” she spits, already planning her escape. There’s a window that she can easily shatter and jump through once she has a few moments to herself. “Will you leave so I can get dressed?”

Tarrlok pulls out a jacket-shirt-thing from the closet and regards it thoughtfully. It’s old-fashioned, and looks like the one Councilman Sokka was wearing in her vision. “Just how stupid do you think I am, Avatar?” he inquires conversationally, although the muscles in his shoulders are still tense from their fight. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The blood rushes to her face, the anger and humiliation so intense that it makes her dizzy, and it’s a struggle to get the words out from between her gritted teeth. “Then _at least_ turn around.” 

Thankfully, he does, without argument. Korra strips off her clothes and pulls on the dress as fast as she can, her face still burning, as she rips the price tag off and tosses it onto the bed. It feels weird, wearing a dress, but the fabric is fine and the fur warm. “I’m done,” she says resentfully. The options for her escape are looking slimmer by the second, if he really doesn’t intend on letting her out of his sight. 

She glances over her shoulder to see Tarrlok wearing the new shirt and pulling the numerous ties from his long hair, freeing it from his signature three-ponytail style. Korra can’t help but think back to Ikki’s first words upon seeing him, and the thought makes her heart ache. If she knew then what she knows now, she would have listened to Ikki and kicked him off Air Temple Island right then and there. 

"Now sit," Tarrlok orders, as if she were a dog, and he takes an ivory comb from the dresser and sets it down on the bed. "And do something less…distinctive…with your hair."

Korra remains motionless, her mind racing. Her chi’s still blocked, and as long as he can bloodbend, physical attacks won’t do her much good. Her only option is injuring his hands to the point where he can’t bloodbend - maybe by breaking his fingers - but figuring out how to do it is the problem. 

Tarrlok’s eyes narrow in irritation, and there’s a sudden, shattering pain in her kneecaps, making them give out under her. Korra lands on the bed hard, unable to hold back a quiet moan of pain. Reluctantly, she reaches up, pulling her hair ties free of her tangled hair, until it cascades in a mess down her shoulders and back. She barely recognizes the girl in the dusty mirror in front of her - slumped shoulders, reddened eyes, a long scratch across one cheekbone, _defeated._ Cornered. Powerless.

But it occurs to her, after a few slow strokes of the comb through her hair, that Tarrlok has a time limit. Everybody knows the truth about him now, including the police force, and it’s only a matter of time until they discover this place in the mountains. It’s his childhood home, she suspects, and Korra’s skin crawls in revulsion when she realizes that this is probably the bedroom that Yakone shared with Tarrlok’s mother. Despite - or perhaps because of - that, Tarrlok doesn’t seem to be at ease here at all.

She runs the comb through her hair again slowly, with shaking hands, willing the police to already be on their way here. If she can buy some time—

Tarrlok sighs impatiently, confiscating the comb from her. “Honestly, Avatar,” he says, his voice even colder than the winter winds outside, but at least he doesn’t guess at the real motivation behind her glacial pace. “You would think that somebody would have taught you the basics of personal grooming.”

He combs through her hair quickly and efficiently, ignoring her protests, and venting his considerable frustration with her in the way he pulls at the knots and tangles at her hair until she flinches, tears of discomfort springing to her eyes. “There,” Tarrlok says finally, pulling open a drawer in the vanity in front of her to reveal a collection of hairpieces, ornaments, ties, and ribbons, all of which look like they haven’t been touched in more than a decade. “Now do something with it.” 

Korra stares at the accessories, memories welling up inside her until she feels like she’s going to be sick - how when she was really little, her dad would always style her hair, pulling it up in haphazard ponytails like his own, because she hated sitting still for her mom to comb and braid it. How she had loved Master Katara’s hair loopies, from the first time she laid eyes on them, but in spite of hours of effort, she could never recreate them in her own hair. Her fingers were too clumsy to braid properly, no matter how much her mom had tried to teach her. For as long as she could remember, her signature three ponytails was the only thing she could ever manage. Even for that stupid gala that Tarrlok had thrown in her _honor,_ Pema had sat her down and styled her hair, while Jinora and Ikki chattered happily about how pretty she looked in her dress, and how “that cute Firebender boy would fall in love with her the moment he saw her!”

Right.

Her movements wooden and mechanical, the Avatar separates her hair into two sections, one over each shoulder, and begins to braid it. Judging from her frown of concentration, it’s taking a disproportionate amount of effort, even though her technique is inept, crooked, and messy at best. Something about watching her struggle - that sad look on her face, and her fingers’ awkward movements through her own hair - while sitting _here,_ of all places, brings back a surge of memories that Tarrlok usually tries to repress. 

His throat tightens, and he takes hold of Korra’s hair, more gently than he had before, but she still tenses up, as if expecting a strike. Tarrlok takes a deep breath, struggling to hold on to his composure. _I am not Yakone,_ he reminds himself again, keeping the ghosts at bay - the darkness of his father, lurking within him, as well as his mother’s spirit, which still seems to linger in this room.

"Let me," he says quietly, as he has a hundred times in the past.

Korra reluctantly complies, resting her hands in her lap, and Tarrlok glances away quickly, focusing his attention on the soft strands of hair. He braids her hair easily, tying both braids at the ends and then taking two pieces of purple ribbon from the drawer, winding them through the length of each braid. If she’s surprised at all by his proficiency in styling, she doesn’t show it, but when he steps back, allowing her to take a look in the mirror, she blinks several times, reaching up to touch her hair self-consciously. “My mom wears her hair just like this,” she says quietly.

"So did mine."

Korra glances up at him, taken aback by the admission, but Tarrlok has already turned away, rummaging in one of the other drawers. He pulls out an old, carved rosewood box and sets it on the vanity in front of her, flipping it open to reveal an ancient array of cosmetics. There’s powder in twenty different colors, pots of a paint-like substance, and several brushes in the middle, all of them shaped differently. She stares, at a loss, but then flinches as Tarrlok takes her face in his hand, none-too-gently turning her toward him.

"Get _off,_ " she protests, leaning back and shoving at his arms ineffectively. He just frowns and tightens his grip, taking one of the brushes and coating it in the purple powder.

"Hold still," Tarrlok instructs, "and close your eyes."

He bloodbends her into doing it anyway, and Korra hates how vulnerable she feels, as well as the sensation of the small, powder-covered brush, as it glides along the sensitive skin of her closed eyelids, painting them like a canvas. Then Tarrlok gets _another_ brush, and dusts something onto her cheeks, and as much as she longs to take advantage of his closeness to lunge forward and grab his hands and break his fingers with pure, brute strength, or possibly bite them until they’re too mangled to bend, it’s impossible. She can’t move a muscle. 

For the first time, Korra wonders how Tarrlok came to be so knowledgeable about ladies’ hair styling and cosmetic application. Then she thinks back to her vision of Yakone, and fights the urge to shudder. Somehow, she doesn’t think that a person like that would ever be kind to his wife, and a man could hurt a woman in a thousand different ways even without bloodbending…perhaps even to the point where she needed her son’s help to get ready for the day. 

She’s unprepared for the pity that wells up in her, and she pushes the thoughts away hastily. Tarrlok releases her then, from his grip and the bloodbending’s hold. A quick glance in the mirror takes Korra by surprise. There’s just a faint dusting of purple shadow on her eyelids and blush on her cheeks, enough to make her look, at first glance, a couple of years older than her age. That, in combination with the new hairstyle and the purple dress… 

Korra swallows over her dry throat, trying to contain her nausea at how _different_ she looks. Like somebody else entirely. Even he’s not easily recognizable; the single ponytail and different clothes make him look more like a Water Tribe warrior than a fancy politician. The sickening realization hits her again, of the fact that Tarrlok’s plan is one step closer to fruition, he doesn’t seem to be changing his mind, and she’s still more or less unable to stop him. It feels like she’s an unwilling passenger on a satomobile that’s just hopelessly spun out of control.

"Tarrlok," Korra says, trying to keep her tone calm and level, reassuring and persuasive, but her voice shakes, and this time, it’s not from anger. "Look. It’s not too late. You don’t have to do this."

He turns away, stalking to the other side of the room. “Yes, it is. I used bloodbending on the Avatar, a fellow councilman, the former and current chief of police, and three teenagers,” he says quietly, the words heavy with - if not remorse, then self-loathing. In a matter of instants, as long as it had taken him to lose his temper the previous night, he had undone over a decade of hard work. “There’s no future for me here any longer. I have no desire to spend the rest of my days in a jail cell.”

Korra looks down at the floor, trying to keep control of her emotions. If it was Aang in her place, he would know what to say; how to talk Tarrlok down from this insane idea…but diplomacy has never been her strong point, and she’s at a loss.

Tarrlok returns with a battered old folder and a box. He sets the box aside and pulls out two sheets of paper from the folder, and Korra recoils as she realizes that they’re documentation sheets, which he obviously intends to falsify. His words in the basement, about needing to become ‘someone else’ to win Republic City, come to mind again, and she has the sinking suspicion that he’s actually done this before. “Choose a name,” he tells her impassively.

"No! I’m not going to be a part of this—"

"Pick a name or I will select one for you."

She feels _trapped,_ trapped like a tiger seal in a hunter’s net with no way out, and it’s such an unprecedented feeling that it leaves her disoriented. “Senna,” she mumbles, feeling her throat tighten and close over. The room spins. _Spirits,_ is she ever going to see her mother again?

"Very nice. I suppose I’ll make you nineteen…we don’t want to turn any heads."

The words barely register. Tarrlok finishes her paperwork, blowing on the ink lightly to dry it, before setting it out of her reach. He goes through his just as quickly, and becomes Taruq of the Northern Water Tribe, thirty-four. “There,” he decrees, satisfied, and Korra flexes her hands desperately, trying to force her bending to return with every fiber of her being, but it’s still locked away somewhere beyond her reach. It’s been at least half an hour since Tarrlok got back to the house and dragged her out of the basement, and nobody’s found them yet, either. There’s a scream building inside her, longing to escape, but it won’t make it’s way past her frozen lungs and it won’t do her any good anyway.

Tarrlok picks up the box, and even though they’re running out of time, he hesitates slightly before opening it. The mere sight of the necklace - the hand-carved purple-gray stone, the slightly frayed dark purple ribbon - still hurts, even after all these years. The last time he touched it was when he had removed it from his mother’s body. It’s beautiful, but it seems to radiate a dark aura, for all that it represents and all the memories it brings back.

He had never intended to use it, just to hold on to it, as a keepsake. Considering the end his mother met, having somebody else wear it is is a bad omen - but there’s no time for anything else. He glances up at the girl standing across from him, whose gaze is fixed on the door as if she’s contemplating one last, desperate escape attempt, and Tarrlok’s chest tightens with misery and anger and regret and this is not what he hoped it would be; this is not how he envisioned it _at all._

The thought that he can make another one for her someday is meager consolation, as Tarrlok removes the necklace from the box and offers it to Korra. “Here,” he says quietly. “Put this on.”

Korra’s eyes widen with shock and revulsion as she realizes what it is, and she jumps back, as if burned. “What?” she exclaims, horrified. “Is that - _no!_ “

"It’s the only logical explanation for why we would be traveling and living together," Tarrlok explains impatiently, trying to ignore the inner voice telling him that if he hadn’t ruined things, her reaction - someday in the future - wouldn’t have been like _this_. “That’s all it is.” 

He pulls back just in time to avoid a punch to the face. Before Korra can strike again, he paralyzes her with a single twist of his wrist. She has no choice but to stay still as he ties the necklace around her throat, as gently as he can. Her skin shivers beneath his touch, and when he releases her, she shudders, her body obviously feeling the strain of encountering bloodbending so many times in one day. “Don’t do this,” she says, her voice barely audible. “Please.”

Tarrlok looks away, hardening his heart, as he rolls up their registration papers and sticks them in the inner pocket of his coat. “I gave you fair warning that you would regret your choice not to cooperate with me.”

Korra takes a deep breath, trying to hold on to her temper, as Tarrlok pulls a pair of fur-lined lavender mittens out from the garment bag she had discarded earlier and hands them to her. “Put these on. It’s cold outside.”

She does so reluctantly, figuring that if she’s going to take him down, she’ll need hands that haven’t been frozen and rendered useless by hypothermia. The second she has them on, he takes her by the hand and pulls her out of the room without taking a single look back. Luckily, there is still no sound of approaching police airships or satomobiles, and he scans the empty house to confirm that there are no clues that anyone can pick up as to where they are going now. 

The wind outside howls through the trees, so bitingly cold that it’s like a slap to the face. The snow is almost knee-deep and is getting thicker by the minute - it’s no wonder that nobody has been able to track them down yet. Tarrlok clears a path for them with one effortless sweep of his hand, but then Korra suddenly stops dead, refusing to take another step. He turns, ready to deflect another useless protest or attack, or to knock her unconscious if she’s going to be particularly aggressive, but he’s unprepared for the look on her face - like a lost child - as she tugs on his hand again.

"At least let me bring Naga," she says, _pleads_ , the words spilling out in a rush. “I can call her or whistle for her and she’ll be here in less than half an hour. And I’ll come along without fighting you if I can just have her with me, I promise, I swear.”

Tarrlok hesitates momentarily, glancing into the woods. He’s always considered the  Avatar’s polar bear-dog to be just another one of the dangerous weapons she has in her arsenal, but this doesn’t sound like Korra trying to manipulate him into letting her have access to a secret weapon; it just sounds like a girl pleading for her beloved pet, the only vestige of familiarity she will have upon being forcibly taken to a new place. And the promise that she would behave if allowed to have the dog is tempting. Still…

 ”No,” he replies flatly, turning away from her. “It’s - it would be much too conspicuous. Everybody knows that Avatar Korra is the only person in history to have ever tamed a polar bear-dog.”

"But I can’t just abandon her here!" Korra protests, swiping at her eyes angrily, and her voice breaks. "She’s my best friend, she’s been with me for years, she’ll be _confused—”_

She turns, trying to hide her tears from him, and Tarrlok rests his gloved hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. The last thing he needs on his hands is a seriously distraught Avatar. The odds that the emotional upheaval will trigger the Avatar state are slim, but he doesn’t want to take chances, regardless. “Your dog will be fine,” he assures Korra, his voice almost lost in the rush of the wind. “Tenzin will take care of her. He’ll send her back to the South Pole, where she belongs. She can return to the wild, find a mate, and have a litter of cubs. She’ll be happy. Even if she tries to find you and gets lost somewhere in the mountains, this area is full of wolfbears who will adopt her into their pack. She won’t be alone.” 

Korra sniffles for a few moments, sounding completely heartbroken. Just when Tarrlok thinks she has calmed enough to continue, she whirls around with unbelievable speed and backhands him across the face. It’s an unexpectedly strong, hard strike, even coated in soft mitten, and he staggers back several paces, the vision in his left eye fading to black.

Korra doesn’t try to run. “I hate you,” is all she says, softly and venomously.

She doesn’t resist when he bloodbends her into unconsciousness, making it just painful enough to serve as a warning. Tarrlok catches Korra before she hits the ground, somewhat awkwardly lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the satomobile. He puts her in the passenger seat this time and buckles her in, and it just looks like she’s sleeping. 

Tarrlok glances back at the house one last time before getting into the satomobile. It’s freezing inside, and he starts it up, turns the heat on, and shifts the car into drive, before guiding it onto the rocky path, and quickly leaving Republic City behind.

-

_to be continued_

_-_


	2. Part II

Korra stares down at the sea and seriously contemplates jumping. 

Her main concern right now is the temperature. It’s nighttime in the middle of winter, and her fingers are cold where they wrap around the railing of the ship, even through the mittens. Under normal circumstances, she would have been able to regulate her body temperature with firebending long enough to swim the miles back to the coastline of the United Republic - but these aren’t normal circumstances. Accurately guessing her intentions, in the privacy of their cabin, Tarrlok had blocked her chi points again before she had left for the deck.

She stares down at her unfamiliar reflection in the dark water, numb. She had been expecting that somebody would have recognized them - Councilman Tarrlok, Avatar Korra - as they bought their tickets and boarded the ship. Nobody had looked twice at them, and she hadn’t dared to speak up and blow their cover as well.

_Coward,_ she chastises herself for the hundredth time, tucking her hands in her sleeves. Some Avatar she is, being too scared of the physical pain associated with bloodbending to stand up for herself. 

Korra swallows over her dry throat, trying to force away thoughts of her parents, Tenzin and his family, Naga, and her friends. She’s been missing now for more than twenty-four hours, and surely somebody would have alerted her mom and dad back in the South Pole, and - it hurts too much to think about it. It’s even worse than contemplating what’s going to happen to Republic City without her to help in the fight against Amon. 

She thinks of jumping, again - maybe she’ll be able to swim _really fast_ before succumbing to hypothermia, if she sheds her boots and dress - but before she can act on the impulse, she realizes that she’s not alone any longer. The last person that she wants to see steps out of the shadows, coming to stand beside her.

"Don’t jump," Tarrlok tells her calmly. "As your husband, I would have to come in after you, and I would rather not."

"You’re just giving me incentive," Korra replies with no small amount of bitterness, turning away. After the whole episode where he had refused to let her bring Naga with them, even looking at him hurts, and having him refer to the two of them like _that_ is just salt on her wounds.

"You’re being overdramatic."

Korra simmers with fury for a few moments, before she pounds her fists on the railing like a frustrated child. “You’re being stupid!”

Tarrlok raises an eyebrow at her. “You’re being mature.”

"Are you so arrogant that you really think this is going to work?" she demands, in a hushed voice. "Do you even know where we’re going? What we’re going to do when we get there? This whole idiotic plan is going to blow up in your face, and you would have saved both of us the time and trouble if you had just listened to me when I tried to talk you out of it!"

"I have the entire situation under control," he insists, as self-assured as always.

"You have _nothing_ under control,” Korra hisses, just because she knows it will touch a nerve.

Tarrlok’s eyes narrow as he glances around, quickly confirming that there’s nobody on deck with them. Before she can even try to prepare herself to fight the bloodbending, Korra finds herself stumbling close to him, and she’s powerless to resist; as he wraps an arm around her waist, she finds herself unwillingly resting her head against his chest. “I wouldn’t say _nothing,_ " he murmurs, his breath stirring her hair, and she shivers. 

They walk back to their cabin hand in hand, the picture of an innocent, happy couple.

-

There are practical complications in the plan that Tarrlok had failed to predict. 

The Avatar stands across from him in their small cabin, her arms crossed and an expression of outright mutiny on her face, as she flexes her fingers, obviously trying to force her firebending back to her. “I am not,” she snarls, struggling to keep her voice down. “Going to share a bed. With _you_. _Ever._ ”

"Don’t be ridiculous," he replies tersely, trying to be patient. "There’s enough room for both of us. It’s what adults do, nothing more."

"Not adults who hate each other!"

Tarrlok eyes her in exasperation. “I don’t hate you.”

"Well, _I_ hate _you._ ”

"I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything about that." 

He draws the thin covers back, before sitting down on the bed. The mattress is dreadfully hard and lumpy, the sheets rough, and he thinks longingly of the luxurious furniture he had left behind in his home in Republic City - and is reminded, again, of the role _she_ had to play in their departure. Korra looks at him suspiciously. “What are you doing now?”

"Going to sleep, _obviously._ ”

"…Oh. Fine then, go right ahead."

She puts her nose in the air, looking inexplicably offended, and Tarrlok laughs, short and resentful. “Did you think that I was going to be a gentleman and offer the bed to you?” 

Korra’s expression is all the answer he needs, although she tries to cover it up with her usual pugnacious attitude. “No, and I don’t need the stupid bed anyway!”

She snatches the second pillow off the bed and paces around the cabin, her footsteps making the floorboards creak, before she sits down underneath the window. He can tell that the idea has suddenly occurred to her that her refusal to share with him means that she will have no blankets. Shrugging it aside, Korra awkwardly falls down onto her back with a long-suffering sigh. 

Tarrlok settles down as well, and a rather awkward silence falls over them, as they both try to ignore one another’s presence, despite the fact that he can hear her breathing, and vice versa. 

After several minutes have passed, unable to take it anymore, he sits up and turns on the lamp again. “Avatar.”

Korra feels his scandalized expression burning into her, and she sits up with a scowl, rubbing her eyes. “ _What_.”

"You don’t intend to _sleep_ like that, do you?”

Korra looks down at herself, confused. “Like what?”

Tarrlok takes a deep breath, looking at her with the same _I-can’t-believe-you’re-this-dense_ expression he had when he’d asked her to style her hair a different way. “You can’t sleep in your day clothes,” he explains slowly. “It’s poor hygiene, and they’ll get wrinkled. And why on earth do you sleep with your boots on? That can’t be healthy for your feet.”

He stops, evidently deciding he’s said too much, and Korra stares back at him in disbelief. “You are such a priss,” she says slowly, shaking her head. 

Tarrlok blinks, offended. “I am not. And you didn’t answer my question.” 

"This is just how I do it." Korra flops back down. " _You_ were the one who insisted on taking me hostage, so you’re just going to have to deal with it.” 

She can practically feel him seething, and she bites her lip, trying to hide a smirk. She has just two choices at the moment: deliberately aggravate Tarrlok and push his buttons in order to make him regret his stupid decision - and maybe even frustrate him enough to let her go - or give in to the anxiety and hopelessness and depression that has been surging inside her ever since he took her captive. Right now, the first choice sounds better. 

There’s movement on the other side of the room, and then the creak of the single trunk of possessions Tarrlok had managed to grab from his house before heading up to the mountains. Before Korra can even think of sitting up to see what’s going on, a warm, solid projectilecomes flying at her from that direction. She catches it on instinct, squinting at it until she determines that it’s a traditional fur-lined Water Tribe anorak. It’s soft and well-worn and it even smells like snow, fresh and clean, but when she remembers just who it belongs to, she holds it at arm’s length, making a face. “I don’t want this—”

"I don’t want to be in this situation either," Tarrlok cuts in, sighing. "We don’t always get what we want, do we? Now go change. Fold your dress properly and hang it on the rack, next to my things."

Korra gives him a filthy glare, before stomping off to the small attached bathroom and complying with the unreasonable demand. _Great,_ she thinks glumly, folding her dress _properly,_ with exaggerated care,and then placing it on the rack; fighting the temptation to ball it up, pry open the window, and toss it out of there instead. She’s stuck with somebody who is not only all-around horrible in every way, but also an obsessive-compulsive priss. And a bloodbender on top of that, all the better for enforcing any one of his many insane whims. Lovely. 

At least the anorak is comfortable over her leggings; even though it’s way too loose and the hem hangs down to her knees, it’s still warm, and as long as she doesn’t think too much about who wore it last, it’s fine. As an afterthought, she kicks off her boots, before making her way outside and over to her old spot on the floor. Tarrlok is sprawled out on the bed, under the covers, looking way too comfortable.

"That’s better," he says lazily, when he sees her. She suddenly has a feeling that it - picking on her, that is - is a coping mechanism as much for him as it is for her. As long as they’re both sniping at each other, they can’t be quiet and have a chance to reflect on how dramatically both of their lives have spun out of control, in the span of a little more than a day. "Sleep well, Avatar."

Korra’s hands curl into fists in response to the mocking words, as she tries to make herself comfortable on the hard floor and tries _not_ to think about how much she misses Naga’s presence. This is the second night in more than half her life without her polar bear-dog at her side. “Go to hell, Tarrlok,” she replies coldly, turning so that her back is to him.

-

The rest of their journey passes like a vague, surreal nightmare, and Korra spends most of her energy hoping that it will end as soon as possible. As long as they’re at sea, she scans the skies for Republic City police airships. Meanwhile, Tarrlok pores over maps, trying to decide where their final destination is going to be. She sweetly suggests the Northern Water Tribe and he glares at her, asking if she could be any more obvious about trying to lead him into a trap. She also asks about the Fire Nation, more genuinely this time, because it’s one of the places she’s always wanted to see, and it just seems so _exotic,_ and why not spend a few days there before law enforcement in Republic City catches up to them? Tarrlok considers it, but then mumbles something about humidity and crosses it off the list.

After about a day and a half of nonstop travel, by ship and then on foot, they end up in one of the hundreds of tiny rural towns in the southeast corner of the Earth Kingdom, as far as they can possibly get from Republic City without crossing into Fire Nation or Water Tribe territory. It’s evening when they make their way into the small coastal town of Shanying, and Tarrlok looks around at their surroundings, evidently pleased by what he sees, even though this is as different of a landscape from Republic City as can be imagined. It’s like taking a step into the past, and it reminds Korra of the stories Master Katara would tell her of the places she had seen on her travels.

Tarrlok squeezes her hand lightly, as snow begins to fall. “Welcome to your new home, _Senna_ ,” he tells her quietly. “It’s quaint, isn’t it? The last place anybody would think to search for us.”  

It’s true, and it makes her sick; makes her fear, for the first time, that they may not be found. _No,_ she thinks hastily, unwilling to even go down that dangerous road. Fire Lord Zuko had been able to track down his long-lost mother, after all, and she and Tarrlok are still much more conspicuous and high-profile than Princess Ursa had been. If that had been possible…

Korra responds to the deliberate provocation by trying to break Tarrlok’s fingers - which is harder than it seems, when wearing mittens, and she suspects he bought them for that express purpose. As if to retaliate, he wraps an arm around her waist, holding her close.

They stop and get takeout from a little noodle shop (everything in this town, Korra notices, is small and rustic and run-down), and eventually happen upon an inn where they can stay for the night. There’s no table, so after they both freshen up and change clothes, she warily sits on the bed across from Tarrlok, as both of them dig into their noodles, eating straight from the box.

He seems happier than he has been since leaving Republic City, obviously given confidence by the fact that they’ve made it this far without being detected. _Enjoy it while it lasts, your luck isn’t going to run for much longer,_ she thinks coldly.

"Our first order of business," he says, around a mouthful of noodles - _hmm, not so prissy after all,_ Korra observes - “is to find a place to live. This establishment is mediocre at best.”

"Right," she replies, straight-faced, pounding her fist into one hand. She’s unconsciously channeling Bolin - the thought makes her heart hurt - doing impersonations of the enemy at stressful times. "Mediocre. At best."

Tarrlok lets it pass. “Then we’ll have to find a source of financial income. I brought all the money I could, but that won’t last us forever.”

_Forever_? The noodles turn into rubber in her mouth, and Korra chews them determinedly, trying her best not to wonder why he would want to keep her around forever if he really finds her as insufferable as he claims. Not like that’s going to happen, in any case. She’ll be out of here within a week; _somebody’s_ going to be able to track them down somehow, whether it’s the Republic City police or the Order of the White Lotus. She might as well let Tarrlok cling onto his delusions for now; he refuses to listen to reason anyway, and it’s better that he lets his guard down.

"I think it would be best for us to pose as non-benders, just to further distance ourselves from our real identities," he muses. 

"Sure," Korra replies noncommittally, stifling a yawn, and thinking about how satisfying it will be to see him dragged back to Republic City in chains. "Whatever you think is best."

"We can discuss it more tomorrow."

They finish their dinner and clear off the bed, and Korra takes one of the pillows, tossing it to the opposite side of the room, as far from him as possible. She makes a grab for the blanket, but Tarrlok is too fast for her. “What are you doing now?” he asks warily, as they play tug-of-war with the threadbare material, standing on opposite sides of the bed.

"I told you last night that I’m _not_ going to sleep with you,” she replies, giving the blanket a particularly hard tug. “I don’t know why you’d think I would change my mind over one day.”

Tarrlok uses his advantage in size and strength to pull the blanket out of her hands. Korra loses her balance and falls facedown on the bed, all of the breath leaving her body in a displeased huff. He smirks, obviously enjoying the opportunity to humiliate her further, and she stands up, dusts herself off, and stalks toward her corner with as much dignity as she can.

"You might want to reconsider your decision," he says, as he pulls the tie free from his long hair and begins to comb it out. "We’re not at sea anymore, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a spider-roach infestation here, considering the poor conditions."

Korra shrugs moodily, staring up at the mold spots on the ceiling. “I don’t care.”

Tarrlok turns the lamp off, cloaking the room in darkness. “You lived in the South Pole until a few months ago. Have you ever seen a spider-roach?”

She considers it briefly and seriously. “No, but I doubt they can be any worse than you, so…”

“ _Manners,_ Avatar! Did they teach you nothing at that compound of yours?”

Korra smiles with satisfaction, practically feeling the injured pride radiating off him. She almost wishes he would say something else, just so she can retaliate and distract herself, but apparently hostage-taking and scheming and being a fugitive from the law is tiring business, because his breath becomes deep and even with sleep in no time. 

It leaves her feeling inexplicably lonely, and without that protective barrier of sorts, the sorrow and anger and heartache and guilt - oh, a _lot_ of guilt, for impulsively cornering Tarrlok in his office late at night and not letting anyone know where she was going, and causing all of them so much worry - comes crowding into Korra’s mind in full force. Even the knowledge that this will all be over soon, hopefully, brings her little comfort. 

She tries to reassure herself with memories of people who make her happy, and at long last, Korra falls into a fitful, uncomfortable sleep.

She dreams of playing with the airbender kids in one of Republic City’s parks - helping Jinora feed the turtle-ducks and playing tag with Ikki and Meelo. The two of them catch her, tackling her to the ground, and Meelo tickles her mercilessly, laughing with devilish glee, despite how she keeps yelling at him to stop. 

Korra wakes up curled into a tight ball to protect herself from the tickling, her eyes full of tears. She blinks them away until her vision clears, and when it does, her eyes widen out of abject terror at the massive, hideous _thing_ slowly crawling over the palm of her hand and making its way up her wrist, getting dangerously close to inching up the sleeve of her parka. 

Korra flings the spider-roach as far as she can in the direction of the bathroom, unable to hold back a bloodcurdling screech, as she realizes, horrified, that there’s another one crawling over her bare foot. She shakes it off and jumps onto the bed in the middle of the room so quickly that she’s not sure if the leap had been partially aided by airbending or not. 

Tarrlok cracks an eye open, annoyed, looking at her through a disarrayed curtain of dark hair. “Ah, Korra,” he rasps. “I assume you met the spider-roaches?”

"Shut up," Korra pants, looking up her sleeves and then patting her hair, paranoid, and she tries to shove his arms aside. He’s stretched out at odd angles, taking up most of the available space; clearly somebody who’s not used to sharing a bed. "Move."

Tarrlok shows no sign of doing so. “I thought you found me more offensive than the vermin?”

Korra kicks him in the leg, uncaring of the potential consequences - it’s been two days and she’s already sick and tired of him dragging her across an entire country and toying with her, making her just a pawn in the game he’s playing, and her nerves are worn to the point where they feel like they’re going to snap. She hates this. She hates this situation so much she wants to cry. “ _Move!_ ”

Tarrlok lifts an edge of the blanket and offers it to her, before rolling over on his side and freeing up some space. “No need to fret, Avatar,” he says tiredly, already drifting back to sleep. “I’ll save you from the spider-roaches.”

Korra slides under the covers, practically trembling with tension - the terrible, suffocating sensation of being trapped like an animal in a hunter’s net returning - and fighting the urge to burn the entire inn down in her rage and _run._

The bed is warm and safe from the disgusting insects, at least, but she doesn’t fall asleep again until hours have passed.

-

Korra wakes up alone, morning sunlight streaming in through the thin curtains, and the moment that she registers that fact, she bolts upright, already preparing an escape plan. Unfortunately, by the time she emerges from the bathroom, dressed and ready to go, Tarrlok steps back into the room. “Good,” he says, blind to the way her face falls. “You’re finally awake. Come with me.”

Like she has a choice.

They check out of the inn, stepping out into the cold air, and walk across town, until the small businesses give way to smaller houses. Tarrlok stops her in front of one, nondescript save for the fact that it’s painted a pretty shade of light blue, and Korra stares as he pulls a set of keys out of his pocket, impressed despite herself. “Wow, you get things done pretty fast.”

"I woke up at sunrise and headed to the town square to ask if any homes were on sale. This one is fully furnished, even."

Tarrlok looks so pleased with himself that Korra longs to reach up and smack him on the head, and she tucks her hands in her sleeves to curb the temptation. He rests a hand on the small of her back, guiding her inside, and she can’t help but pick up on the actual excitement in his voice as he shows her around - although she notes, disappointed, that apart from the sitting room, there are only two rooms, and one is a study, meaning that for now, she’s stuck sleeping in his general vicinity. 

"Well?" he asks, once they make their way back to the sitting room. He pats the stiff blue velvet of one of the armchairs appraisingly. "Do you like it? Admittedly, the furniture is slightly old-fashioned, but we can change that."

At least fifty snarky remarks cross Korra’s mind, but she decides to shelve them for now, flinging herself down on the chair and putting her feet on the coffee table. “Speaking of furniture, I noticed that there’s no conveniently-located platinum prison box. Or a basement to hide it in.”

Tarrlok glances at her feet, chooses not to mention it, and takes a seat across from her. “I thought now would be a good time to discuss that,” he says smoothly. “The prior arrangement struck me as unfeasible in the long term.”

Korra blinks at his word choice. _Politician,_ she thinks scornfully, by way of explanation. “And inhumane. Don’t forget inhumane.” 

Tarrlok clears his throat, straightening the fur trim on his shirt. “…In any case, I think that it would be better for me to allow you the freedom to move about and act as you wish - within reason, of course. There are certain guidelines I will expect you to follow, and deviation from these guidelines will result in consequences.”

"Please," she replies, with excessive courtesy. "Describe them for me."

"First and most importantly, you will not reveal our true identites to anybody. You may not use your bending in public, due to the risk of blowing our cover - however, you may use it in the privacy of our home or the courtyard out back. You will not under any circumstances use it to attack me. If you do, I will not hesitate to block your chi points daily. Is that clear?"

Korra grudgingly inclines her head a fraction of an inch, hating every instant of this. Just the sound of his smug voice is driving her crazy already—

Tarrlok narrows his eyes at her, apparently reading the thought that just crossed her mind. “And one more thing. You will not try to run away or escape.”

"I won’t?" she asks rhetorically, tracing her finger against the blue velvet, watching the patterns it makes.

"No."

They glare at each other, the air between them heavy with distrust, until Korra finally breaks the silence. “And about those consequences…”

The look Tarrlok sends her is full of enough dark promise to make the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and she’s all too conscious of the fact that her muscles and joints still ache from all the bloodbending he had used on her while they had still been in Republic City. “Use your imagination,” he tells her quietly. 

For once, she doesn’t have any response.

-

Two weeks pass, and it feels like a year. To Korra’s growing unease, nothing out of the ordinary happens. On the first day of the week, she buys a copy of the Earth Kingdom Times from the market and is elated to find that there’s a long article about her and Tarrlok’s disappearance from Republic City - but her happiness is replaced with disappointment when the days wear on and nobody in their small town shows any sign of suspicion; of making the connection that the recent immigrants Taruq and Senna of the Water Tribe may not be who they appear to be. Tarrlok has no difficulty finding a job as the teacher of the town’s primary school, and Korra wants to track down the town mayor, smack him with the newspaper, and scream, “ _Don’t you see the resemblance?_ ”

Nobody does. Nobody at all. It’s amazing, what a change in hairstyle and clothes, and a switch between “ _waterbender”_ to “ _non-bender_ " can do for you. 

One day, Korra overhears a conversation at the market on the subject of the Avatar and the Councilman’s disappearance, between the fisherman’s wife and the butcher’s sister. The fisherman’s wife has the paper spread out in front of her, and Korra makes it a point to stand right in front of the stall as she asks for some crab legs, heart hammering with the strength of the hope she feels, that they’ll take another glimpse of the newspaper and then back at her and notice something—

"I think the two of them eloped, most likely," the fisherman’s wife says sagely, hardly sparing her a glance, as she wraps up the bundle of crab legs, craning her neck to look over at the butcher’s sister. "Don’t you?" 

Korra drops her bag of vegetables on her own foot.

"Oh, of course," the butcher’s sister replies, excited. Korra bends to pick up a stray cabbage, and it’s a struggle to not take the heavy vegetable and throw it at her.  "It’s quite the scandal - she’s barely of age, even by Water Tribe standards!"

"It is rather romantic, though," the fisherman’s wife adds dreamily, and Korra closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, forcing herself to tune out the rest of the conversation. 

Eventually, she gives up hope on the idea of the people in town putting together the pieces. After the first couple of days, the Earth Kingdom Times has no new information to report, and the story seems to fade from people’s consciousness. The much worse thing is that the two weeks go by with no sign of the Order of the White Lotus or of the Republic City police force, and Korra gets more and more restless by the day - this is longer than she expected to wait. 

She heads out into the woods one morning, toting the bow and quiver of arrows she had bought after her first few days here. Tarrlok, with his two degrees in history and world cultures from the Northern Water Tribe’s university, had been told he was actually overqualified for a job giving thirty-five small children a basic primary school education. Korra had run into the opposite problem. During a conversation with the butcher, he had told her that a few women in town worked as hunters. They would go out into the woods and bring back wild, fresh game, which they delivered to the butcher and to the town’s restaurant owners, for a price.

She hadn’t quite gotten the hang of the new weapon yet; she had grown up hunting with traditional Water Tribe weapons, after all. To be honest, when she had bought it, she never imagined herself using it more than a few times before this whole charade came to an end.

Korra walks until she reaches the river, before placing the bow and arrow down on the forest floor. She settles herself into a meditation position on a large boulder, pulling the hood of her dress up to ward off the snow, and breathes in and out deeply, trying to clear her mind and organize her thoughts. 

She’s tired of waiting for help from the White Lotus or Republic City, so it’s only natural that she turn to another resource. Unlocking the Avatar State is her key out of here. When Avatar Aang had been in the Avatar State, Yakone’s bloodbending had no impact on him - so it stands to reason that it should be the same way for her.

Korra passes one more week trying every single day, for hours at a time, to overcome the spiritual block preventing her from getting into the Avatar State - but ultimately, it’s no use. Despite the fact that she’s in more desperate straits now than she ever has been, nothing happens.

_It’s been a week,_ Korra tells herself weakly, lying on her back in the snow and staring up at the sky. Part of her knows that it’s irrational to expect a block that has lasted for her entire _life_ to lift after a mere week, but…still. After giving up hope on the White Lotus and Republic City police, she had been relying on the strength of her past lives to help get her out of here. The fact that she can’t get through to them, or they to her, is sickeningly discouraging.

It makes her remember what Amon had said, during the Revelation, about the spirits forsaking her, and choosing him as their envoy instead. It makes her feel even more frustrated and alone.

A few more minutes pass before Korra sits up, resolutely wiping the snowflakes from her face. _You’re on your own, kid,_ she thinks humorlessly, watching a young hare hop along on its way to the den. For the first time in her life, she’s truly on her own, without her parents, mentors and teachers, friends, Naga, and even her past lives, to rely on. 

Korra gets up, dusting the snow off her dress, before grabbing the bow and arrow off the ground, determination taking the place of the mingled misery and false hope she’s been wallowing in for the past several days. She makes her way deep into the woods, toward the jackalope den she had found a few days ago.

Most of them are inside now, because of the snow, but there’s one out in the open, sniffing around for nuts. Korra lifts the bow and arrow, carefully aiming the point at the animal’s eye, her arms trembling slightly with strain. 

The arrow flies straight and true, and the jackalope collapses to the ground. 

Korra pulls the arrow out of the animal’s skull, before sliding the dead jackalope into the sealskin bag she carries over her shoulder, and setting off in search of the lop-eared rabbit den.

She doesn’t need anybody, anyway. She’ll find a way to get out of this situation on her own, no matter what it takes. No matter what the _consequences_ are. 

-

_to be continued_

_-_

 


	3. Part III

The first plan Korra comes up with involves chi-blocking.

It’s simple and straightforward, the way she envisions it. If Tarrlok could do it, why can’t she? She’s now been chi-blocked enough times, between him and the Equalists, to know the precise location of the three pressure points in the arm, back, and neck that she needs to hit. Bloodbending is his one major advantage over her, and if she takes that out of the equation, she can render him effectively powerless, subdue him, and make her escape. 

She chooses to act at night, when Tarrlok is asleep and vulnerable. It’s past midnight when Korra finally makes her move, after hours of feigning sleep, twisting up with anxiety on the inside. She has to strike hard and fast, fast enough to disarm him completely before he can wake or retaliate. 

Tarrlok lies on his side with his back to her, as always, and she hits the first pressure point in his side, already aiming for the next one on his arm, within the instant. To Korra’s shock, however, his other hand snaps out and catches her wrist hard. She freezes up, momentarily unsure of how to react - she could have _sworn_ he was asleep - and in that time, he pulls her down roughly, close to him, closer than they’ve ever been, and her breath catches in her throat. 

"Didn’t I tell you not to try anything to that effect?" Tarrlok asks her quietly, voice slightly hoarse from the abrupt awakening. There’s no real emotion on his face, save for annoyance at being woken up. He’s a much lighter sleeper than she expected.

Korra can’t do anything more than nod, trying her best to hide the fear curling in her stomach, and prevent any sign of it from showing on her face. Her first instinct is to lash out and try to retaliate, physically if not with bending, but in such close quarters, she realizes the fight will be over before it can even begin. Tarrlok is taller than her, and stronger. The courage that had inspired her during daylight, during the hunt yesterday, is harder to tap into now, in the dead of night, when she’s this close to him and the memory of his threat about _consequences_ hangs heavy between them. Her muscles tense up, preparing for agony like the kind he had inflicted on her that night back in Republic City—

It doesn’t come. Tarrlok sighs, sounding exasperated and disgusted all at once, and then he turns her around none too gently, so he doesn’t have to look at her. Ignoring her yelp of dismay, he wraps his arms around her in a tight grip that makes it effectively impossible for her to move her arms - or most of her upper body, for that matter. It’s petrifyingly uncomfortable, having him touch her like this - feeling his arms around her waist and so close to her chest - and Korra tries to struggle out of it, her face burning. 

"What are you doing?" she spits, mortified, as she futilely attempts to kick him in the leg. "Let me go!"

"You just proved to me that I can’t trust you with even the basic privilege of sleeping on your own," Tarrlok replies grimly, before pinning her legs with one of his. "Stop that."

"You can’t—"

"Quiet, please," he says, in his schoolteacher voice, one that she’s sure inspires hatred and dread in all of his poor, unfortunate students. "I have to be up early tomorrow. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have to temporarily disable your vocal cords, and you won’t enjoy that."

Korra seethes, biting her lip so hard the skin almost breaks, but she remains silent, trying to distract herself with fantasies of violent retribution. She has the distinct feeling that this is at least partially motivated by revenge for what happened weeks ago, when she told him she would rather let spider-roaches crawl on her than sleep with him.

Eventually, Tarrlok falls back asleep, with his face pressed against her hair. She lies awake, unbearably tense and simmering with fury, for hours.

They don’t talk about it the next day. Tarrlok acts like it never happened; he’s as polite to her as ever - which is to say, he’s his usual alternately charming and snarky self - and Korra responds in kind. The last thing she wants to do is bring it up again and remind him of what happened, because she doesn’t want a repeat performance of last night.

Night falls and they slip into their usual routine. Tarrlok writes up a lesson plan for for tomorrow’s instruction. Korra pretends to read, while actually planning her next move and where to go from here, because she’s pretty sure that chi-blocking is out. As fast as she is, he’s just a little faster, and that’s all it takes. At the end of the night, though, when they finally wind down and turn out the lights, before Korra can dive under the furs on her side of the bed, Tarrlok holds a hand out to her. 

"Come here," he orders. She can’t really see that well in the dark, so she’s not sure whether it’s her imagination or not, but she thinks he might be blushing.

Korra recoils, leaning further away. “No! You have _got_ to be joking!”

"Is that what this looks like to you?"

She gives him her most persuasive pout. “But I won’t do anything this time,” she lies. “I promise.”

"Do you really expect me to believe that? Now, come here or I will _make_ you.”

Korra reluctantly inches closer, figuring that it’s best to at least move on her own volition and retain some semblance of dignity, until the two of them are curled up in a similar position as the previous night. She nestles her head into the pillow, closing her eyes tight, her fingers curling into a white-knuckled grip against the furs. It’s just - it’s so _wrong_ and _uncomfortable_ on so many levels _._ She’s never been held like this before, and to have _him_ of all people doing it makes her rage. It’s intolerably intimate, a lover’s embrace, but made twisted and warped by this situation; a touch and hold that’s designed to be loving and comforting, but instead makes her feel so trapped and suffocated that it’s sickening. 

Korra takes a few deep breaths, trying to maintain her composure. The last thing she wants is to have some kind of breakdown. This is humiliating and insufferable enough as it is. 

"I can’t feel my arms," she complains at last, fidgeting resentfully. "And this is making me really uncomfortable."

It had been a pathetic, desperate attempt to play on the few shreds of decency he still has, but Tarrlok just scoffs irritably. “I assume that the execution I would face in Republic City, if you were to successfully escape and return there, would be uncomfortable as well.”

They fall into a tense silence, which she periodically breaks with long-suffering sighs. The awkwardness is practically unbearable. Finally, Tarrlok gives her hair a light tug, his patience evidently running out. “Be _quiet,_ Avatar!” he snarls. “You only have yourself to blame for your current situation. I’m not enjoying this any more than you are.”

"Yeah, right," Korra mumbles in an undertone, her voice muffled by the pillow. He’s probably just the kind of person who gets off on making others suffer and having people at his mercy, but then she has to abruptly stop that train of thought because of the disturbing implications in her inadvertent word choice. _No,_ she belatedly tries to assure herself. _No, it’s not like that, it can’t be like that._

Tarrlok tenses up. “What did you say?”

"You heard me."

"That is not true." She can practically feel his glowering burning a hole in her hair. "Not only do you kick and flail, but you talk in your sleep. _Incessantly._ ”

"I do not!" she protests indignantly.

Tarrlok laughs, sounding darkly amused. “Yes, you do. If I have to hear you go on about that firebender one more time—”

Korra’s eyes snap open in horror. “Shut up,” she hisses, through gritted teeth. It’s a cold night, but her face suddenly feels flushed and hot against the pillow. She did have one of those dreams about Mako last night, when she had finally drifted off to sleep, but if she had accidentally _vocalized_ anything— “Seriously. _Stop talking_.”

"I don’t think I will." Tarrlok rests a hand on her hip, infuriatingly smug. "Isn’t he seeing another one of your little friends?" 

She can’t bring herself to say a word, thanks to the shame and guilt washing over her, but apparently, her ashamed silence is all the answer he needs. “You do know that homewrecking is generally frowned upon?” he asks pointedly, disapprovingly. “Or are you _that_ sheltered? In any case, you would have done better to focus your attentions on somebody unattached.” 

It’s like the incident after the press conference all over again, the _half-baked Avatar_ incident that had shattered her mood and self-confidence for the rest of the day and had reduced her to tears. Tarrlok had a special talent for seeing through her; for finding her vulnerabilities and exploiting them, pressing her buttons, in order to make her feel as low as possible.

"How ironic," Korra snaps, fighting to keep her voice steady, searching for the one thing that might cut him as deep. "That I’m getting advice on morality from a _bloodbender._ " 

Tarrlok goes still and quiet, and she smirks to herself.

"Touche," he acknowledges at last, softly, and it’s obvious that her words had some impact on him. "We should sleep."

"Right."

They fall silent, and try to ignore the fact that they both stay awake for much longer, sleep eluding them, for entirely different reasons. 

-

After that night and the few that follow it, Korra crosses chi-blocking - or any other attack - off her mental list. Nighttime _would_ have been the ideal time to strike, but her forced new sleeping position makes it impossible. All night, every night, Tarrlok clings to her like a child with his favorite security blanket, making most movement impossible. 

She’s forced to resort to more overt, risky attempts at rebellion. At least once every two days, Korra tries catching Tarrlok unaware using a well-timed firebending blast…or several. She always acts when he appears distracted or vulnerable, like when he’s busy cooking, grading papers or writing lesson plans, or reading. Much to her frustration, though, even her most vicious attacks never do anything more than singe his clothes before he dodges the attack or uses bloodbending to paralyze her.

"How are you doing this?" Korra yells at him one day, unable to contain her anger and disappointment, as he extinguishes the flames from her fists before they’ve even had the chance to blossom into the destructive force she needs them to be. Bloodbending is one thing. This apparently psychic foreseeing of her actions is another.

Tarrlok observes her with some weariness, obviously deciding whether or not to disclose his secret or not. “It’s an advanced application of bloodbending. I can feel you getting ready to attack before you do so, and respond accordingly.” He pauses, smirking faintly. “…And it also helps that I can read you like an open book.”

Korra fumes, unable to break the hold of his bloodbending, as he steps toward her and blocks her chi points with much more force than necessary. The three points are already bruised from the repeated strikes she’s received over the past several days, and show no sign of healing.

When her muscles have finally recovered from the combined battery of the paralysis and the chi-blocking, Korra storms outside and attacks the old, abandoned punching bag hung on a tree in the courtyard until at least part of her anger is burned out. As dire as the situation looks, she can’t give up. Maybe if she can just act faster, or be more inscrutable or whatever, she can get around his dirty tricks. 

She tries again two days later, when Tarrlok is distracted with cooking the noodles, and she’s supposed to be busy chopping the onions for dinner. This time, she chooses the earthbending move Aang had used to trap Yakone, wrenching the earth underneath their kitchen floor upward with lightning speed. 

Tarrlok jumps out of the way just in time to avoid being imprisoned, and he bloodbends her into paralysis before the cry of frustration can even escape her throat. Korra glares at him defiantly, while he just eyes her, the floor, and the rapidly-overcooking noodles, with regret. 

"Korra," he sighs, irritated. "Look what you’ve done to our kitchen floor. You do know that it was just remodeled a few months ago?"

Korra actually growls, unable to control her temper as she thinks longingly of the things she’d do to him if she could just break free of his bloodbending for five minutes. Tarrlok massages his forehead. “Fix it,” he orders curtly, freeing her hands just enough to make it possible.

She does, unwillingly. The second it’s done, Tarrlok forces her hands and arms behind her back with one sharp movement of his fingers, and Korra can’t hold back a tiny hiss of pain at the wrenching sensation. Every tendon and bone in her shoulders protests at the rough treatment, and her stomach turns over when she actually hears them creaking under the strain. 

Ignoring her soft whimper, Tarrlok reaches to turn off the stove, before walking to the windows in the kitchen and the sitting room and pulling all of the curtains shut. Korra watches him warily, swallowing over her suddenly sandpaper-dry throat, and she doesn’t dare to speak. It’s times like this when she is unpleasantly aware of the fact that bloodbending leaves her entirely at his mercy, even in ways that she would rather not think about. For the past several days, she’s been caught between the desire to escape, and being afraid of pushing him too far, because as she learned from her encounter with him in his office in Republic City, he definitely had his limits—

"Sit," Tarrlok finally decrees, his voice low. "I’ve been patient with you long enough. I think it’s time that we have a little talk."

Moving to the sitting room is the last thing Korra wants to do, but she does so anyway, moving slowly and haltingly, unsure of what to expect, and she hates that he can probably sense every physiological sign of her discomfort. She makes her way toward the armchair, but Tarrlok uses bloodbending to guide her to the sofa, right beside him. _Close_ beside him. 

He just watches her for a while, and Korra fidgets under his gaze, not wanting to risk making the situation worse by saying anything. Finally, he just sighs again, rather morosely. “Korra, to be quite honest, you’re giving me a headache.”

That snaps her out of it. Korra scoffs incredulously, unable to believe it. “ _I’m_ giving _you_ a headache?” she exclaims, trying - and failing - to throw her hands up in exasperation. “Really? The biggest problem that you see with this entire situation is that I’m giving you a headache? You—”

Tarrlok glares at her, and after one twist of his wrist, her vocal cords stop cooperating. Korra chokes, finally falling into a rebellious silence. 

"That’s better," he says evenly. Korra stares at her lap, unwilling to give him the courtesy of eye contact.

"I just don’t know what to do with you," Tarrlok says at last, and she hears real confusion in his voice, mixed in with the expected anger. "I’ve done my best to give you a healthy, normal, and comfortable environment, and even though you’ve repeatedly defied the guidelines I set for you, I have _still_ treated you with an extraordinary amount of patience and kindness. Yet, you respond by fighting me at every turn.”

"Oh, really? _This_ is what you call kindness?” she retorts; twisting around so he can see the position her arms have been locked into, behind her back. 

Korra immediately realizes it had been the wrong thing to say, because Tarrlok hasn’t looked this furious since the night she had told him he was just as bad as Amon. Before she can even try to backtrack for the sake of self-preservation, he snaps, looking quite unhinged. 

"Yes, it is! I don’t do _this_ to you, no matter how much you frustrate me—”

She doesn’t even see his hands moving into the bloodbending position before she’s overwhelmed with agony unlike anything she’s ever felt before. Her muscles seize up violently; a viselike grip squeezes every one of her soft organs until it feels like blood is going to drip from her mouth, eyes, and nose; her veins constrict; her bones ache; her lungs and throat feel like they’re going to tear and explode from the strain of holding in the tortured scream building inside her—

It feels like it goes on forever. Tarrlok finally releases her, and all the breath leaves Korra’s body in a terrified, desperate gasp as she curls up in a ball, instinctively trying to protect herself - but he’s not done yet. “And I don’t do _this_ to you at the end of a long day—”

His fingers twitch, and she’s pulled to her feet. Powerless to resist, Korra stumbles forward, literally falling into Tarrlok’s lap. Her fingers smooth through his long hair - not pulling at it, tearing at it until his scalp bruises and bleeds, like she wants to - but in a gentle, loving caress. She fights it with every fiber of her being, but she leans forward anyway - petrified with horror on the inside at how he’s _doing_ this to her, how he’s making her own body betray her with such ease - and kisses him softly on the cheek. 

_Bite,_ she thinks frantically, _bite, tear—_

But despite her commands, her lips stay closed as she brushes another sweet kiss to his jawbone, and then to his neck. Tarrlok inhales, a deep, shuddering breath, and just as Korra is an instant away from going into true panic mode, he breaks the hold of the bloodbending abruptly, placing his hands on her waist and actually lifting her off him and back to the opposite side of the sofa.

She presses herself back against the cushions, trying to get as far away from him as possible. Her body is trembling and he’s never seen her look this frightened. There’s a brief stab of guilt, which Tarrlok hastily pushes aside. He had just been trying to prove a point, nothing more, to a girl too stubborn and obdurate to listen to what others said. 

"I’ve never done any of those things," Tarrlok tells her softly, as non-threateningly as he can. "And I never will. I promise you that." He pauses, letting letting the words sink in, and he watches a little bit of the tension release from Korra’s shoulders. "Do you still think I’m such a terribly cruel captor? That your current circumstances are so untenable and torturous?"

Korra shakes her head silently, the movement stiff and jerky, but he can see that she’s telling the truth. She looks at the floor, determinedly avoiding his gaze, and Tarrlok is reminded of a hunting trip he had taken once, long ago. His brother had been tremendously successful, subtly using his psychic bloodbending to guide prey, large and small, into traps and within easy spearing range, and their father had been sovery proud. He, on the other hand, had attempted to hunt without bloodbending, with miserable results.

_Pathetic,_ he thinks scornfully. More than twenty years later, and the memory still fills him with bitterness.

Wanting to get away, he had joined a group of teenagers visiting from the Southern Water Tribe who were traveling to a nearby ice island in search of leopard walruses. He hadn’t done much better there, but one afternoon while he had been futilely trying to waterbend some of the leopard walruses onto shore, a boy about his brother’s age approached him, holding a sealskin bag full of small fish. 

_It’s easier to lure your prey in like this,_ he’d said, _rather than using force. Make them come to you._

Tarrlok had been fascinated by the new approach. At the end of the night, as the two of them hauled a pair of leopard walruses back to the camp, he thanked the older boy profusely, already imagining how surprised his father would be at his success. The teenager - Tonraq or Tassuq, his name had been, something along those lines - had punched him on the arm with a grin. _Didn’t your parents ever tell you that you can catch more beetle-flies with honey than with vinegar?_

The lesson had stuck with him. It had become a driving force in his career choice as an adult. His father had gained power and influence through illicit means and the use of force. Instead of the barbaric nature of controlling and coercing people physically, Tarrlok had found he could achieve the same results through relying on his intellect and way with words instead. It was much easier on his conscience.

His time in politics was over. But the principle is just as applicable to this situation as it is to most others.

Tarrlok considers resting a hand on Korra’s shoulder, but thinks better of it, noting that she’s still shaking a little. “All things considered, then,” he begins persuasively, “Wouldn’t it be better for you to redirect the wasted energy you have spent in trying to escape, into accepting and settling into your new life instead?”

Korra glances away, and despite the determination on her face, every inch of her body language elsewhere screams of discouragement and despair. She looks defeated, and vulnerable, and finally, she inclines her head a fraction of an inch in acknowledgement. 

"Remember," he tells her, knowing there will be no better time to strike. When Korra looks at him reluctantly, Tarrlok can’t help but reach out and brush her disarrayed hair away from her eyes, even though that hadn’t been something he planned to do. "This doesn’t have to be as difficult as you’re making it."

She blinks at him tiredly, taking it in, and he notes that she doesn’t flinch away from the fleeting touch. Progress. 

Tarrlok gets up and returns to the kitchen, then, leaving her to her own devices. After several minutes of thought, Korra joins him, quietly resuming chopping the onions.

-

It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done, but Korra forces herself to be compliant for four whole weeks. 

She stops fighting Tarrlok, completely. For all intents and purposes, she learns from her mistakes, gives up, accepts her fate, and resolves to make the best of her new life rather than fighting her captor every step of the way. The two of them start to have pleasant conversations that Korra occasionally allows to cross the boundary into light, playful flirtatiousness. She lets Tarrlok teach her how to cook, and on most evenings, she helps him grade his students’ papers and worksheets. They begin going for long walks on the coastline after dark, and in the privacy afforded by night, they even engage in waterbending spars that can almost be considered friendly. 

Predictably enough, Tarrlok is wary of her changed attitude for the first couple of weeks, but by the end of the month, he seems to have fallen for it completely. The key, Korra thinks, is that he _wants_ to believe it. 

Her suspicions are confirmed one late night, when they’re both curled up on opposite ends of the sofa, listening to some really gruesome, chilling horror script on the radio. During a break, she asks him to bring her tea and he does, and while she drinks, Tarrlok rests a hand on her blanket-covered foot. “Now, this is much easier and more enjoyable than continuing that tedious power struggle,” he says, his voice practically dripping smug self-satisfaction. “Isn’t it, Korra, sweetheart?”

Korra glowers at him, kicking his leg, and searching for the response that she needs. “You’re right,” she replies sincerely. “Actually, this setup doesn’t _completely_ suck.” 

Tarrlok gives her a self-assured smirk. “I’m glad that you’ve finally come around.”

It’s getting harder and harder to contain her restlessness, but Korra waits another week after that - all the better to really lull him into a nice, solid, false sense of security. 

She chooses a cloudy but otherwise nondescript morning to act. Tarrlok leaves for work stressed out because he’s not sure how his bunch of “ _snotnosed cretins_ " - students - are going to respond to the new concepts in the mathematics lesson he prepared for them. Korra presses a slice of buttered seaweed bread into his hand on his way out, as she slings her bow and arrow over her shoulder. 

"I’ll try and make seal for dinner tonight," she promises, the picture of innocence.

Tarrlok kisses her on the forehead distractedly - _that’s_ a new development, and it takes all of Korra’s self-control to not jump back as if burned - and tells her he hopes she has a good day, and then leaves.

She steps out a few minutes later, striding purposefully into the forest, as she always does. She heads straight for the river, seats herself on a large boulder on the bank, and meditates for fifteen minutes, clearing her mind and taking deep, calming breaths. 

Once Korra judges that she’s safe and that enough time has passed, she goes right back to the house, proceeding directly to the bedroom she shares with Tarrlok. His sealskin travel bag is in the closet, and foolishly enough, he’s never even attempted to make a secret of the fact that he puts his money in the desk drawer next to where she keeps her own. She clears it out, so that he won’t have the chance to escape when she gets back to Republic City and alerts the authorities as to his location, and she stuffs all the cash she’s earned into her bag as well. There’s more than enough for fare on the ship back to the United Republic, and then for the long taxi trip to Republic City. 

Korra uses what space she has left for food, and she leaves without looking back, pulling the hood of her dress up against the chilly air and walking as quickly as she can, taking the long way out of town in order to avoid passing through town square and the school building. Her heart pounds with adrenaline, her breath coming fast, and even though it’s cold out, her palms are wet with sweat. The city that has ships to the United Republic is a few hours away - she regrets the fact that satomobiles haven’t caught on in this rural area of the Earth Kingdom - but she has time. Tarrlok shouldn’t be back for another six hours or so, and by that point, if all goes as planned, she’ll already be on a ship heading for home. 

It had taken her a long while to figure out that his threat about her escaping had been an empty one, relying more on her own fear of bloodbending and self-preservation instinct than actual fact. After days of wracking her memory, Korra hadn’t been able to remember Master Katara mentioning a single thingabout remote bloodbending. She had always learned that the bloodbender had to be looking at their target in order to exert their power over it. True, there was that one time back in Republic City when Tarrlok had used bloodbending to throw her from one side of the room to another _while_ his back was to her, but…she had been just a few feet away, close enough for him to still be acutely aware of her presence.

She had verified her suspicion by venturing into the town library one day and discreetly searching out a book about bloodbending. That hadn’t said anything about a bloodbender being able to control somebody miles away from them either, and that was when her plan was born. 

Korra walks a little faster, throwing a slightly paranoid glance over her shoulder, but the very fact that she’s putting distance between herself and Tarrlok makes her breathe a little easier. _Stupid,_ she thinks coolly, her fingers curling into fists. _Underestimating me was the worst thing you could have done._

Aside from the matter of controlling her own impatience to escape, it had been so easy _-_ deceiving him into thinking that he had actually succeeded in dampening her fighting spirit and convincing her to see things his way. Tarrlok’s arrogance and overconfidence in his own skills of manipulation would be his downfall, and a small smirk curves Korra’s lips. _You’re not the only one who can play that game, sweetheart._

_-_

The math lesson is a complete disaster. Two hours in, a student vomits out of stress when Tarrlok calls him up to do a multiplication problem on the chalkboard. Despite his attempts to calm everybody down while controlling his own revulsion - and cursing the fact that he’s supposed to be a non-bender, and therefore cannot clean up the mess in an easy manner using waterbending - this triggers a sympathetic episode of vomiting amongst almost all the girls in the class. This, in turn, causes widespread mass hysteria, and ultimately, Tarrlok has to dismiss all his students for a one-hour recess while the janitorial staff cleans up the schoolroom. 

He spends the entire walk home mourning the loss of his job as a council member. Then the small house he shares with Korra comes into view, and Tarrlok sighs softly, something she had once said to him coming to mind. _This setup doesn’t_ completely _suck, I guess._

It does have its perks. This home isn’t even a fraction as luxurious as the one he’d owned back in Republic City, but it’s nice to have somebody to come home to. Somebody who may have returned from her hunting by now, and who might even be convinced to rub some of the tension out of his shoulders.

Tarrlok finds the house empty, though, and at first, as he steps into the bedroom, noting Korra’s discarded bow and arrow leaning against the wall, he doesn’t think anything of it. But then he notices the closet door, left slightly ajar, and one of his eyebrows quirks up slightly in confusion. He pulls it open to find his sealskin travel bag missing.

It could be a coincidence. Korra’s taken it once before, when she had brought home more books than she could easily carry from the library. Nevertheless, instinct prompts him to cross over and check the desk drawers where both of them keep their money, and Tarrlok freezes when he realizes that they’re empty. Both of them. He curses under his breath, slamming the drawers shut so hard that the desk shakes. A quick look at the kitchen confirms that a loaf of bread, a few apples, and a small takeout box of leftover noodles are missing as well. 

He paces around the kitchen in restless, anxious circles, putting the pieces together. Korra must have left soon after he had, in the morning. Considering her two hour head start, he quickly deduces that she must be miles away.

There’s only one option, and Tarrlok glances down at his hands uneasily. But it’s the last thing he wants to do. It brings back a flood of disturbing memories of lessons with his father, where he had been forced to use his brother as a test subject, and the fact that he’s even contemplating it…

He had once sworn to himself, once he was free of Yakone’s grasp, that he would never do something so disgusting again. But then, he thinks bitterly, his hands curling into fists, he had once promised himself that he would never bloodbend again, either. 

_You’re Yakone’s son,_ he remembers Korra saying, making no attempt to conceal the disgust in her voice, _aren’t you?_

No matter how far he came in life, he never could get away from his father.

Tarrlok hardens his heart, opening a drawer and then slamming it shut in a futile display of temper. As he always did, he had given Korra fair warning not to try running away. He has no choice but to act. The alternative - allowing her to escape, and then making himself vulnerable to capture and perhaps execution by Republic City officials - is unacceptable.

He had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this, though. Korra had behaved so well over the past month that he had actually believed that she was settling down and had done the smart thing by choosing to accept her fate. She had seemed so genuinely content and happy. Clearly she had just been biding her time. 

The knowledge that he had been duped by _her,_ of all people - just when he had become able to trust her and enjoy her company - stings. Not just his pride, but something deeper. Nevertheless, as Tarrlok closes his eyes, focusing intently on the task ahead of him, he finds no joy or satisfaction in what he is about to do.

- 

The walk has been rather tedious, and it started raining not too long ago, slowing her progress somewhat, but Korra’s in high spirits regardless, as she stops and eyes the road sign, beaming with satisfaction. Six miles to the port city of Tainan, where she will be able to catch a ship back to the United Republic. With any luck, she can make it into the city within the hour, just in time to catch the ship leaving later in the afternoon - and by this time tomorrow, she could even be back in Republic City.

Korra quickens her pace, unable to contain her eagerness - to hug Naga tight, burying her face in her soft fur, to see Tenzin and Pema and the kids again, and spend time with her friends, and responsibilities as the Avatar aside, she wants to head back to the South Pole as soon as possible to visit her parents, because they must have been _so_ worried for the past month and a half. 

The thought of Amon is the only thing that casts a dark shadow over her happiness.  If he had hurt Tenzin’s family - the last airbenders, and more importantly, her second family - or anybody else… She and Tarrlok both had no idea as to how the situation in Republic City was progressing. Their radio didn’t pick up any United Republic signals, from so far away, and of course they couldn’t get the Republic City Times newspaper in the Earth Kingdom. She just hopes that the situation she returns to isn’t much worse than the already tenuous one she had left behind. 

Korra keeps walking, head down, deep in thought, and she absentmindedly presses her hand against her chest. There’s a dull, persistent ache there - like a heavy weight pressing down on her heart every time she breathes - that she hadn’t noticed this morning. It’s strange; she’s in such good physical shape that she shouldn’t feel discomfort after such mild exertion as a two-hour walk. She hadn’t pushed herself too hard during her forms and combat practice yesterday, either. And despite the fact that she spends hours hunting in the perennially cold and rainy weather every day, she hadn’t noticed any signs that she was coming down with something…

She tries to ignore the pain, just like she used to brush off injures in the pro-bending arena, but when breathing is a constant reminder and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better, it’s hard. _Stress, maybe,_ Korra thinks, taking a deep breath and trying to calm herself. She’s been under enough of it since the night that Tarrlok had first taken her captive. 

She focuses on the feeling of the rain on her skin and the scent of it, and even the mildly soothing squelch of mud underneath her boots as she walks, to get her mind off her discomfort. Despite her efforts to the contrary, she can feel her pace slowing, and Korra scowls, pushing forward and motivating herself with thoughts of the ship waiting in the harbor to head back to Republic City, and with everybody waiting for her back home. _There’s going to be enough time to rest when I get there,_ she tells herself firmly. The important thing is that she can’t risk losing her gateway out of here, no matter what. 

…Even if it is getting harder and harder to breathe as the pain and pressure in her chest builds, while her heartbeat accelerates in panic, and black spots creep into her vision and blur it. Korra stops out of sheer necessity, narrowly avoiding losing her balance and falling flat on her face. She finds herself gasping for breath, and realizing that there’s no hope in continuing right now, she stumbles off the deserted dirt road to lean against a tree, before placing a hand on her chest again, futilely trying to soothe it, and to work through the panic attack. She hasn’t had one of these in months, ever since her failed confrontation with Amon on Memorial Island. _This is the_ worst _timing,_ she thinks unhappily, leaning her head back against the sodden bark, as the world around her spins.

Korra meditates like Tenzin had taught her, struggling to clear her mind, even though she’s painfully conscious of the wasted minutes ticking by. But for the first time, it doesn’t work. The pain doesn’t loosen its grip on her and it doesn’t become any easier for her to breathe. As a matter of fact, it just gets worse, until it feels like her heart is being squeezed by an iron hand.

Korra freezes at the thought, her blood running cold, and her stomach curls up with dread. When she finally opens her eyes, she finds that she’s on her knees, clinging to the trunk of the tree for support. She drags herself into a standing position, shakily making her way back onto the road, to conduct a little experiment.

She takes five steps forward, in the direction of the city, and the agony inside her builds with every step, to the point where she can barely even put one foot in front of the other. She breaths in deeply again, trying to control her nausea. Then she takes ten steps back, counting each one. This time, with every step, the crushing pressure inside her lightens a little more.

Korra stops dead, unable to come to terms with the sickening sensation inside her; her suspicions confirmed. _Strings,_ she realizes, numb. _Strings, pulling me back._ Like a wayward puppet. She wants to laugh at the mental image and scream with rage and hit something, all at the same time. 

She looks down at the ground and lifts a hand to rub her aching head, her shoulders trembling out of pure stress. _It’s impossible,_ she thinks again, uselessly, but then she remembers the vision Aang had shown her of Yakone, bloodbending everybody in the courtroom _with_ his hands handcuffed, using what appeared to be pure mental focus. That was supposed to be impossible, too. And if Yakone could do that, who was to say that his son couldn’t bloodbend somebody from a distance?

Korra closes her eyes, torn. The ache in her chest is just a dull throb, now, a brief reprieve. It’s just a little pain. She can handle pain. She’s so close to getting away, she can’t turn back now. Maybe all she needs to do is grit her teeth and suck it up until she gets out of Tarrlok’s range. It can’t be infinite; it’s bound to break at some point. 

Korra makes it a mile down the road, biting the inside of her cheek until she tastes metal in her mouth, because that pain distracts her from the other. Until she starts to cough, a terrible, hacking cough even worse than the one she’d had when she came down with pneumonia as a child - and when she pulls her hand away from her mouth, she notices with revulsion that there are splatters of blood on her palm.She bends the liquid away in disgust, watching it soak into the dirt beneath her feet, and her eyes sting, but she refuses to cry.

_I guess the range theory’s out, then,_ she thinks bitterly. _I don’t think it works like that._

The city is five miles away.

_So close,_ Korra thinks, closing her eyes, unable to deal with it. It had been going so well; she had been so happy. She could have been back in Republic City by tomorrow. Everything she wanted and planned for, with every fiber of her being, snatched out of her grasp. _I was so close._

She wants to sit on the ground and cry, chest pain be damned, but she suppresses the urge. She wipes her eyes and takes one last look in the direction of the city. Then she turns around, her shoulders slumped, and begins the long walk back. 

-

Tarrlok can’t concentrate for the rest of the day. He gives his students worksheets to occupy their attention and tells them that they will go over the lesson as a class tomorrow. 

Normally, at the end of the day, he is just as relieved to leave as they are, but today is different. He steps out of the tiny, run-down building and into the rain, and looks back inside, thinking back to the long nights in Republic City, when he would occasionally sleep in his office.

A long-forgotten memory stirs inside him, of standing in the middle of the arctic tundra during a storm, his older brother’s cold glare pinning him to the spot. _Coward,_ he’d said, his voice heavy with condemnation.

Tarrlok shakes the recollection aside. It’s not often that he thinks of his long-lost brother, missing for more than half his life, now. But ever since what had happened earlier in the afternoon, the clearly defined lines between his two lives have been blurred even further. He had delivered a perfect lecture about multiplication of single-digit and double-digit numbers, all while being unable to fight off the memories and the self-loathing and the ghost of Yakone’s mocking laughter in his ears. _You denied me, boy,_ his father said scornfully. _Look at yourself now. You have_ become _me._

Tarrlok shudders, trying in vain to clear his mind. _Because this isn’t going right,_ he wants to insist, like a frustrated child. _Nothing_ has gone right, from his plans of working alongside Korra with the task force to defeat Amon and cripple the Equalist movement, to his conversation with her in his office, to that asinine kidnapping attempt, and now, not even this, his attempt at starting a new life along with her. Things started falling apart in Republic City when Amon had moved out of the shadows and begun to cause major disruption, and they haven’t stopped since. Worse, he’s consistently responded badly…just like Yakone would have.  

He unlocks the door to their house with hands that shake slightly. The question of whether Korra made it home is answered by the tracks of mud that lead to their closed bedroom door. Tarrlok hesitates in a rare moment of indecisiveness, torn between whether to give her space or check whether she’s all right. But then he puts himself in her shoes; imagines how hopeful she had been when she set out, and then how discouraged and upset she would have been at being forced to return, and he decides that it would be better to check, just in case. 

Tarrlok enters their bedroom cautiously, finding it empty. The door to the bathroom is closed, and silence greets him when he calls Korra’s name. He waits another few minutes, until worry starts to set in, along with the memories of another rainy day like this one, so long ago. He twists the doorknob immediately, snapping the lock, before stepping into the small space with her. 

She sits on the edge of the bathtub, huddled against the wall, staring at the floor. There’s a vacant look in her eyes, a kind of horror born out of the realization of how terribly her own body had turned traitor on her, even when she thought she was safe and free. She’s dripping wet, dirt on the knees of her dress, and his first instinct is to bend it off her, drying her in an instant. Korra doesn’t even blink. She’s obviously in shock, and he has no idea how to respond. 

"Korra," Tarrlok says eventually, as gently as he can, reaching out to her. "I—"

Korra flinches back violently. “Don’t touch me,” she hisses, through gritted teeth. 

He freezes, and finally, tentatively sits down beside her, far enough that she’s out of arm’s reach. There are so many things that he wants to say, all of them varying degrees of inappropriate or unproductive. “I’m sorry,” he settles with, at last.

Korra looks at him out of the corner of her eye, and her lack of sarcasm is yet another clue that something is truly wrong. “Really. You’re sorry.”

"I am." He pauses, unsure of where to go from there.

Korra closes her eyes, turning away from him again, and it’s a few moments before he sees the tears dripping down the edge of her face and onto her dress.

The sight affects him more than it should, and Tarrlok risks her displeasure to take her hand in his. It’s damp and cool and trembles slightly. “If there’s anything more I can do to make this easier for you—”

Korra meets his gaze for the first time since he had entered the room, and the ice in her eyes rivals the winter night he had last seen Noatak. “Let me go.”

"You know I can’t do that," he says impatiently. "But I do want to—"

Before Tarrlok can finish, Korra rises and walks back out to the bedroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The last place he wants to be at the moment.

He joins her, after some time has passed. She’s stretched out on the bed, fully dressed, a troubled frown across her brow even in sleep. 

Tarrlok pulls Korra’s muddy boots off and sets them on the ground, before taking one of the fur pelts and draping it over her. He pulls the curtains shut, plunging the room into darkness, and steps out quietly, leaving her to herself.

-

_to be continued_

-

I know that there’s no evidence in canon for Tarrlok’s remote bloodbending being possible, but hey, I figured that if Noatak could bloodbend with his mind, this was fair game. Yakone’s kids had some serious skills. 


	4. Part Four

Korra sleeps late the next morning, worn out from the strain of the previous day.

 

Every muscle from her hips down hurts after the four-hour walk, not to mention the deep, lingering ache in her chest as a result of Tarrlok’s bloodbending. She wakes to find herself alone, thankfully, and she rolls over on her back, tangled up in the furs and her eyes and head still throbbing from last night’s tears, when her gaze focuses on a new fixture in the room. A large crystal vase on the bedside table, filled with two dozen fresh white orchids. Beside it sits a plate of buttered seaweed bread, scrambled eggs, sliced moon peaches, and a tall glass of lychee juice. 

It’s a beautiful sight. Orchids are her favorite flower, and she feels lightheaded from hunger after skipping dinner last night, but seeing all of it makes bile rise in her throat anyway. Like pretty flowers and food are going to make anything better. As much as Tarrlok would like to pretend otherwise, she can’t forget that no matter how _comfortable_ her current accommodations are - definitely a step up from the narrow platinum box in the basement - she’s still, essentially, a prisoner. A gilded cage is still a cage, after all. 

The temptation to just stay in bed and let the despair and anger overcome her is strong, but Korra finally forces herself to get up, eat, and prepare for the day ahead of her. She’s in the woods within the hour, and she channels every bit of her own rage and frustration into the hunt, taking more pleasure in it than is healthy. It’s sick and twisted - she knows and hates it; her father never taught her to relish killing - but it’s the only way she can try and shake off the feeling of utter powerlessness that had overwhelmed her after yesterday. After she realized just how much she lacked control over even her own body; after she finally comprehended just how much agency and influence over her own life’s trajectory had been taken away from her. 

Korra brings down two hogs, a boarcupine, a bull pig, and a jackalope, but even after all of that, her blood is still pounding in her ears and her body is rigid with adrenaline. Even dropping her haul off at the butcher’s and receiving an exorbitant sum of money in return doesn’t make her feel any better. 

Korra paces the town square for some time, torn; the thoughts that had plagued her mind during the hunt refusing to go away, before she finally makes her decision. She turns sharply, heading to the library, and choosing the route that won’t take her near the school building. 

Once she’s there, it takes her a while to find what she needs; the old book that she had last used for research. She doesn’t dare ask the librarian for assistance, because what use would a non-bender have for the item she’s searching for? 

It’s on the top shelf in the very back room of the library, the poorly-lit one that nobody really goes into, where all the books are dusty. Korra pulls it down and holds it in her hands, and her skin crawls as she stares at it, unsettled. The title is in red type - quite appropriate.

_The Ancient Art of Bloodbending,_ it’s called. Though the practice has been outlawed for longer than she’s been alive, scholars have still published books on the subject. Master Katara hadn’t approved, but even she didn’t have the power or influence to censure them. By law, though, none of the books are supposed to provide instruction in bloodbending, so most of them discuss it from a purely factual and ethical perspective. The information given isn’t nearly enough for any average waterbender - say, Hasook, for example - to read it and understand how to practice bloodbending. 

But then, she isn’t any average waterbender. 

All of Katara’s warnings and everything she’s been taught for her whole life are ringing in Korra’s ears. Katara would never call bloodbending _art,_ first of all. She always referred to it as a evil, dark craft, and the most vile and unethical application of bending that there was. Korra had promised her, long ago, to never, ever seek to learn it, regardless of the provocation. She still remembers the somber look in Katara’s eyes, and the feeling of her frail hand on her own shoulder. _Those who bloodbend open themselves up to madness,_ she had warned. 

Korra’s willpower wavers for an instant, but she shoves her doubts aside with difficulty. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and it’s time to fight fire with fire. It’s the only chance she has of overpowering Tarrlok and getting them back to Republic City before it’s too late. His knowledge of bloodbending is the trump card that renders her a completely powerless opponent against him, and damn it, she’s sick and tired of feeling so helpless. She has to take back control of her own life, and if this is the only way she can do it—

_Besides,_ she justifies, sinking down to the floor and opening the book, with slightly tremulous hands. It isn’t for frivolous reasons. Tarrlok is standing in the way of her duty as the Avatar, and so he has to be forced aside. She’s doing the right thing…right?

Korra reads the book from cover to cover, and as she does, she thinks back to all the times Tarrlok had used bloodbending on her; to the sharp, rigid, abrupt motions of his hands and arms and wrists, like a puppeteer controlling a marionette. By this point, she knows what can be done to paralyze the human body, inside and out - an important skill. She remembers the movements necessary to make somebody move their arms or walk, or even levitate, and she can just barely recall how to knock somebody unconscious without laying a finger on them. She even remembers how to execute the awful torture technique he had used on her to prove a point that one time.

In the privacy of the darkened aisle, she practices, rehearsing the movements over and over again, just like she goes over airbending forms. Except that even using bloodbending and airbending in the same sentence is wrong and leaves a bad taste in her mouth, and Korra tries her best to push the thoughts of _what would Tenzin say, what would Aang say,_ to the back of her mind. This is her last resort, after all. She’s only doing this because her hand was forced.

She ignores her reservations and the fact that even the movements, with nothing behind them and no living target in front of her, make her feel dirty. It’s sick. Unnatural.

_It’s the only way._

One paragraph, in the middle of the discussion about ethics, gives her pause; makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. _The novice, inexperienced bloodbender does not begin practice on humans. Practice begins with small animals at first, such as mice or rats. Once the desired level of control is attained with small animals, the novice moves on to larger specimens, such as dogs, goats, and medium-sized livestock. At that time, the bloodbender is likely to have attained a level of expertise preparing him or herself to use the technique on a human._

Korra swallows over her dry throat, hastily closing the book to avoid rereading the analysis of how immoral those actions are. She knows. But…of course she’ll have to practice. It’s just like everything else. Her first ever firebending move definitely wasn’t the dragon’s breath, and of course she won’t be able to just jump right into bloodbending and subduing Tarrlok. 

_Animals,_ an inner voice protests weakly, and she shuts it down, hardening her heart. It’s no different from hunting, isn’t it? Maybe it’s better, actually. She won’t be _killing_ the mice or rats, after all, just…experimenting with them a little. 

Despite the justification, Korra still feels overwhelmed by uneasiness all of a sudden. Her palms sweat, her fingers nerveless at the thought of what she’s preparing to do, as she awkwardly shoves the book back onto the nearest shelf. She walks home, her footsteps feeling oddly heavy, her heart a tumult of resolution and confusion all at once. 

It’s not nighttime, of course - it’s just the early afternoon, but she has to try her best to make it happen without drawing energy from the moon, just like Yakone and Tarrlok were able to. There’s no chance of slipping out of Tarrlok’s grasp in the middle of the night to practice, and if he found out…

Korra goes to the kitchen and finds a slice of bread, and she takes it outside to the back garden, clutching it in a white-knuckled grip. It’s gray out, and threatens to rain, and she rips up the bread into chunks, throws them in the grass, and waits. 

The first rat comes quickly, and she raises her hand, bracing herself - but it’s pregnant, she realizes quickly, and she drops her hands as if burned, watching it until it flees with a mouthful of bread.

The second rat is small and young, with bright, inquisitive eyes and a twitchy pink nose. She can’t bring herself to do it then, either. 

Korra lets another one pass before she gives herself a mental slap to the face, and a sharp order to _pull yourself together, damn it._ She’ll use the next one, no matter what.

She focuses her gaze on its fragile little body, but she doesn’t allow herself to really _see_ it, when it finally comes. She takes a deep breath and raises her hands, zoning in on its breaths, its movements, envisioning its anatomy, its delicate bones and tiny organs, and its small heart pumping blood, coursing through its arteries and veins—

Korra moves her fingers tentatively, and then with more decisiveness, as she focuses, harder than she’s ever focused before…and the rat freezes. It looks up, panicked, and she feels - _feels_ \- its heart rate double, feels it straining against her control with all of its might, and it takes all of _her_ self-control not to immediately release the technique because of how scared the creature is. Her own breath is coming fast, and there are drops of sweat beading on her forehead. 

Nothing Katara had told her prepared her for what it would feel like. It’s like she’s _in_ the rat. It’s like the rat has been been sliced open in front of her still alive, and its inner workings are her playthings. The sense of power and control…is absolute. Unlike anything she’s ever felt before.

_Okay,_ she thinks desperately. _I made it be still. Now what else should I do?_

A few movements of her fingers, again, and Korra forces the terrified rat to take three steps forward. She can _feel_ the resistance in its bones, feel and hear them creaking under her control. Her stomach heaves, but she bites her tongue hard, determined to maintain her focus on the task at hand. She draws her hands back and makes the rat rear up on his hind legs, forcing his front two paws to scrabble in the air, and she ignores the sickening sound of the animal’s own blood as she manipulates it. She makes it lie down on the ground and then curl up in a ball, and then even run around in a circle before she decides it’s time for the next step. 

Unconsciousness. _Just_ unconsciousness. The rat has a tiny brain, and the blood vessels inside it are miniscule. Her own head throbs mercilessly from trying to maintain her concentration on a task so precise, and without the moon overhead to bolster her efforts. She twists her wrist in the way she had learned, decreasing the flow of oxygen to the brain, but just enough so that it won’t cause coma or brain death—

The rat collapses in a motionless heap in the dewy grass. Korra reaches out to touch it hastily, pressing her finger to a pulse point, and she sighs in overwhelming relief at feeling it breathe. A few pages in the book had talked about things too horrifying to contemplate - crushing organs; using bloodbending to render someone deaf, blind, or mute, or snapping bones, and she shivers at the memory of what Yakone had done to Aang’s wrists and fingers and neck—

Tarrlok has never been that rough with her, though…with the exception of what happened yesterday, and Korra closes her eyes, sickened at the recognition of what she has to do next. She tries to justify it, again; it’s an essential skill for her to learn, it will probably be the only thing that forces him to cooperate with her.

She revives the rat with trembling hands. There’s pure terror in its beady eyes as it looks at her, and it tries to run, but she paralyzes the animal before it can make it more than a foot away. Korra rehearses the moves in her head, taking deep breaths to try and control her nausea. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, and her voice just seems to disconcert the rat even more. “I am _so_ sorry.” 

She slowly, deliberately, begins to constrict the rat’s heart, putting pressure on it, just like Tarrlok had done to her - causing the pain that had forced her to comply with him, or risk unconsciousness. Korra thinks back to the terrible cough that had wracked her body, and the splatters of blood on her palm afterward, and she shudders convulsively. Unconsciousness, or worse. 

The rat’s body starts to shake uncontrollably, and the sight of its uncomprehending panic and agony brings back dark memories of yesterday and how helpless and frightened she had felt when it was happening to _her._ The rat’s eyes dim and it curls up in a ball, like she had wanted to, and Korra isn’t sure if it’s her imagination or if she sees a minuscule stream of blood trickling from its mouth.

Korra releases the technique at once, a small, strangled, not-quite-human sound tearing its way free of her throat. Her hands shake and she feels feverish, as she watches the rat weakly struggle to its paws and then dash off into the forest. 

It finally starts to rain, but she doesn’t feel the drops soaking her skin and hair. The strain of bloodbending without the moon left her with a splitting headache, and her nose is bleeding, but she doesn’t quite register that either. 

_I just tortured an animal. An innocent, defenseless animal._

The chilling awareness of what she’s done chases through her mind in an endless loop, and Korra just barely manages to make it inside and to the bathroom before becoming violently sick.

The half hour she spends clutching the toilet, resting her flushed head against the cool porcelain and alternately throwing up and sobbing, while nursing a strong nosebleed, is one of the darkest, lowest moments of her life. At the end of it, when her stomach has finally settled a little, and her mind is less wracked by anguish thanks to another half hour of meditating on the bathroom floor, Korra pulls herself to her feet and looks blankly at her reflection as she brushes her teeth. She doesn’t recognize the drawn, desperate person she sees staring back at her. 

She gets into the shower and turns the water to the hottest it can go, until it gets to the point where it’s almost painful, and she scrubs herself with her soap and her own fingernails until her skin is reddened and raw. Even after all that, she still doesn’t feel clean, not like she had this morning. 

Katara had been right. It had just been a rat, and it had just been for a few minutes, but it had changed her. 

Korra pulls a fresh dress on, the soft fur lining soothing her skin, and she stares at her hands. There’s no sound in the bathroom save for the dripping of the water off the tiles, but it’s like she can still hear the clotting blood sounds of the bloodbending, and the rat’s frightened squeals—

She flinches, shuddering, pressing her hands over her ears, and it takes several minutes to shake it off. She takes a last look at herself in the mirror before leaving to make dinner, and getting ready to create the appearance that nothing is wrong. If Tarrlok notices that she can’t quite look him in the eye for the rest of the evening and night, even when she quietly thanks him for the flowers, he doesn’t say anything about it - perhaps chalking it up to residual anger and sorrow from what happened yesterday.

That night, it takes Korra forever to relax her mind enough to sleep, and when it finally comes, it’s plagued by the most horrifying, blood-soaked dreams, of control and inflicting pain and killing, animals and people. She wakes in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, curled up like the rat had been. Tarrlok’s hand rests tentatively on her shoulder blade. “I’m sorry for waking you,” he says, a lot more gently than she’s used to. “I think you were having a nightmare.”

Korra spares a moment to hope that she hadn’t cried out anything incriminating in her sleep. “Yeah,” she mumbles, blinking hard. “I was. It’s probably better that you woke me up.”

Tarrlok makes a small sound of assent in the back of his throat, settling down next to her again and rubbing his hand over her upper arm in a light, awkwardly comforting caress. Her muscles are so tense and tightly drawn after the nightmare that the touch actually feels good, and she doesn’t shake him off. 

"You know, you don’t have to worry," he tells her quietly, after a long period of silence. "…About Amon. No matter what happens in Republic City, he has no way of finding you here. You’re completely safe." 

Korra has to bite her lip to restrain a bitter little laugh. He actually thinks that she’s having nightmares about _Amon._ If he only knew…

"I hope you’re right," she replies, as naturally as she can. 

"I am, most of the time. In any case, even if Amon does manage to track us down somehow, he and his Equalists won’t stand a chance against my bloodbending."

"Right," Korra responds, her voice muffled by the pillow. If Amon and the Equalists couldn’t, could _she_? The rat had just been the first small step. Tarrlok is a fairly tall and strong human being…something else entirely.

She rests one of her hands over his absentmindedly, feeling the difference in size and power, as well as experience. He’s been trained since childhood, presumably. She just has to hope that being the Avatar will give her some kind of edge. 

To her surprise, Tarrlok intertwines their fingers together, holding her hand rather protectively. Korra is all too conscious of his warmth beside her, the rise and fall of his chest and the steadiness of his heartbeat, as she glances down at their joined hands. And for the first time, the thought of using bloodbending on him, robbing him of any sense of physical agency and reducing him to a helpless shell, doesn’t give her the same pleasure and satisfaction as it once had. 

-

Morning comes, and even though it’s the last thing she wants to do after a night of little to no sleep, Korra grabs her bow and arrow, slings it across her back, and makes her way into the forest again. After the pay she had received yesterday, there’s actually no need to hunt today…not for money, at least. The passage she had read in the book has played on her mind for the past few hours. _Once the desired level of control is attained with small animals, the novice may move on to larger specimens, such as dogs, goats, and medium-sized livestock._

Bloodbending a rat had been awful enough. Experimenting with bloodbending on a larger animal, something as complex and sentient as a dog or goat, something large enough for her to really see the pain in its eyes…the mere thought makes her sick, inside and out, but there’s no other choice. 

A couple of weeks ago, she had inadvertently stumbled upon a wolfcat den deep in the woods. Korra retraces the path that took her there, trying to harden her heart with every step.

She happens on one - a full-grown adult, the size of one of the arctic wolves back home - sunning itself on the rocks a few feet from the den. The animal’s eyes are closed, its features the picture of calm serenity. She can’t bring herself to attack a sleeping creature, so she crouches to the ground, finds a small stone, and throws it at the rock the cat sleeps on. 

The wolfcat’s amber eyes snap open, and it gives her a low, warning growl, its hackles rising. It’s the last thing she wants to do, but Korra throws another rock, right at its face.

The animal dodges nimbly and leaps off the rock, lunging at her with a snarl. Korra reacts quickly, raising her hands and getting into position. She stops it when it’s a few feet away from her, and even though this animal’s resistance is much stronger than the rat’s had been, by virtue of size, she is pleased to find that she can hold it still. The wolfcat’s body quivers with adrenaline, strangled growls making its way free of his throat, murder in his eyes.

Korra moves her hands like she’s working puppet strings, fighting the animal’s resistance, as she forces it to move; to walk in circles, stretch, jump, lie down, even take an experimental snap at its own tail and paws. Even more so than yesterday, the sound of the bloodbending is repulsive and eerie, and worse than that is seeing the formerly aggressive, territorial wolfcat shrink into something small and cowering and frightened underneath her control. 

After a while, it even starts to whimper, looking at her as if begging her to stop. It reminds her of the beaten, burned dogs she had seen wandering the streets of Republic City, cringing in the shadows and warily watching passerby, and her heart breaks at the sudden realization that she’s no better than the monsters that had done that to the dogs. With every whimper and pained little howl, the thought of executing the agonizingly painful heart constriction technique and then forcing the wolfcat into unconsciousness to test her skills becomes more and more untenable. 

_This is the only way,_ a voice in her head tells her weakly.

"No," Korra whispers back, her throat aching from the strain, her chest hurting with the weight of self-loathing. All of this has been a horrible mistake, from beginning to end. She should have never picked up that book; should have never even entertained this awful idea when it had first come to her.

_You’ll never escape if you don’t learn—_

And at that moment, she doesn’t care; all she knows is that she will never do this to another living creature again. Not another animal, large or small, and not even Tarrlok, no matter what. “I can’t. I _can’t._ ”

Her hands drop to her side as she releases the technique abruptly. The wolfcat shakily gets to his feet, and Korra sinks to her knees, uncaring if it makes her vulnerable. “I’m sorry,” she cries. Like all Water Tribe children, she grew up knowing that her people hunted to sustain their way of life - but like everybody else, she had been taught how to strike in a way that would make the animal’s death instant and almost painless. The people of the tribe took only what they needed to survive, and they believed that all life was sacred and worthy of respect. The very essence of bloodbending spits in the face of all those principles.

The wolfcat flees, and Korra leans forward, burying her head in her hands and trying to calm herself. 

Bloodbending is out of the question. Which leaves her back where she started, back to square one - with no _clue_ about how to get control of this situation.

She needs time to think. She needs answers, and the forest floor is not the best place to search for them. The wolfcat might bring the members of his pack back in this direction at any moment now. Korra stands unsteadily, her head spinning and feeling like it’s going to cleave in two, and she bends the blood from her nose away before it can splatter her dress. 

She trudges back home, feeling more alone and dispirited and at a loss than she has in a long time, and lets herself in the back door. Korra makes her way to the bedroom and throws her bow and arrow down on the floor, followed by her sealskin boots, before she falls facedown on the bed, all the breath leaving her body in a long, exhausted sigh. The discouragement weighs her down like a stone and makes it hard to breathe in again. 

There’s only one avenue for consolation right now, before she risks driving herself either insane, or further into depression. Korra pushes herself up and settles into a meditation position, fighting to clear her mind, and pushing the anxious thoughts out of her body one by one, with every exhale. She closes her eyes, and after a long time, the tension begins to seep out of her shoulders, and her brow smooths out from its previous frown.  

When she breathes in again, the air smells like wildflowers. 

Korra forgets her focus, and her eyes snap open in confusion. And then she almost falls over out of pure shock.

Because she isn’t in her bedroom any longer. She’s sitting in the middle of a vast meadow, amidst grass the color of molten gold and underneath an amber sky. 

It has to be a dream. She must have inadvertently fallen asleep. 

Still, she stretches a hand out in front of her tentatively, and wills a burst of flame to explode from her palm. Nothing happens. And even in her dreams, she can always bend.

The realization hits her belatedly, making her head spin. Korra ruffles the grass with her hands, taken aback by how real it feels. “I’m in the Spirit World, aren’t I?” she asks herself softly, unable to believe it, even though the proof is all around her. After seventeen years of barely making any spiritual breakthrough, she can’t wrap her mind around it. She’s finally, _finally,_ actually crossed into the other plane of reality. 

The implications of it dawn on her, and Korra can’t hold back a joyful screech as she collapses facedown into the grass, rolling around in it and pounding her fists on the ground out of pure glee. It means that what Amon had claimed about the spirits forsaking her and choosing him as their envoy instead hadn’t been true after all, and she’s not _as much_ of a failure of an Avatar anymore. 

A massive dark shadow falls over her, then, blocking out the sun. She hears a very familiar sound behind her, and all of a sudden, there’s the steady, rhythmic rush of breathingon her back. Korra stiffens, startled, as a cold, wet nose nudges her spine, gently urging her to her feet. She scrambles up as fast as she can, and even though she knows it’s not possible, Naga is the first thought on her mind.

Even though she recognizes soon enough that it’s not her best friend, the sight of her visitor still fills her with happiness. “Oogi,” Korra smiles, reaching out and placing an affectionate pat on the sky bison’s furry head, momentarily overwhelmed with memories of Tenzin, Pema, and the airbender kids. The bison huffs, as if offended, and the resulting gust of air almost knocks Korra over. She laughs, realizing her mistake, and holds her hands up in apology. “I’m sorry, _Appa._ I should have known better.”

Mollified, Appa trundles forward a few steps and plops into a sitting position, before directing a significant look at the saddle on his back. Korra climbs on hastily, her body trembling and her heart pounding with anticipation and excitement. _Aang._ She’s going to see Avatar Aang, the legend, the person who she’s heard so much about; the exact person who she’s been desperate to make contact with - and perhaps the only one who can help her. 

Appa lifts himself up into the air with one powerful movement of his tail, and Korra squeals with delight at the sudden motion. She stares down at the unfamiliar, outlandish landscape of the Spirit World in abject fascination as they fly through it. There are meadows and plains, deserts, forests, and oceans, all incredibly vast. Finally, they approach a place that looks similar to the South Pole, her childhood home, and her chest tightens at how painfully familiar it is, down to the otter penguins and everything.

Korra gasps when she sees the distant figure down below, his yellow and red Air Temple clothing cutting a stark contrast against the snow. He’s waving enthusiastically, and Appa makes a deep, happy sound in the back of his throat, before diving down sharply. As they get closer, she blinks several times, wondering  if she’s seeing right or not, but then it becomes clear that the person awaiting their arrival is not the same one she had seen in her vision of Republic City, or even the twenty-something-year-old Aang depicted in the statue on Yue Bay. It’s the Aang that she first heard about in the stories Master Katara would tell her, when she had just been a little girl. His face is innocent and beardless; his limbs skinny but strong, and he can’t be more than twelve years old. He’s wearing a smile that takes up his whole face, and his big gray eyes are alight with enthusiasm. 

The second Appa’s paws touch the ground, Korra slides down from the saddle, before sinking into a deep bow. “Avatar Aang,” she says, her voice trembling a little, because this is only the most meaningful, most long-awaited moment of her entire life. “It is suchan honor to finally meet—”

Aang tackles her in a hug. “Korra!” he cries joyfully. “I’m so glad that you’re here! It’s great to finally see you in person!”

Korra holds him close, painfully aware that this is the first friendly embrace she’s had in several weeks. He reminds her so strongly of Tenzin, of the comfort and reassurance she had found in his arms after her disastrous confrontation with Amon, and when they finally pull back, she can feel tears pricking the back of her eyelids - although, for once, she’s not ashamed of them. “It’s such a relief to see you,” she manages. “I have so many questions—”

"And I think I might have the answers," Aang replies, sounding more serious now, like he did in her visions. "But first, I have a question for you."

Korra nods raptly. “Of course. What is it?”

Aang’s face splits into another wide grin. “…Will you go penguin sledding with me?”

Korra groans aloud, slapping her forehead with an open palm. “Aw, man, Master Katara totally warned me about this! I can’t believe I fell for it!”

Aang just laughs, and it bears a distinct resemblance to Meelo’s.

They run through the tundra until they find a couple of unsuspecting penguins to pounce on, and then they go down the steepest, most intense mountain _ever,_ one that’s even better than the course her dad had created for her when she was little. The game only ends when the otter penguins finally careen off a cliff into the water, hungry and in search of food, sending Korra and Aang plummeting along with them. 

They swim back to the snow banks on shore and collapse beside each other, laughing so hard that they’re gasping for breath. Finally, Korra turns back to Aang, feeling her heart swell with gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispers. “It’s been so long since I could relax and have fun like that.”

Aang beams, patting her hand. “That’s why I thought it would be best that I come to you in this form, rather than my usual one.” 

"I’m just glad that I can see you at all!" She pauses, biting her lip. "…I was so worried that everything Amon said at the Revelation was actually true." 

Aang shakes his head with a frown. “No, but that’s a conversation that can wait for another day. You’ve had a really tough time over the past couple of months, haven’t you?”

Korra nods, sitting up and drawing her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them with a sigh. “Yeah, I have. You know what’s been going on, right?”

Aang nods sadly. “I’ve been checking in on you.”

"Then you know what a difficult situation I’m in." Korra looks down at her hands. "I don’t know what to do!" she explodes, unable to contain her frustration any longer. "It’s like I’m trapped at every turn! I couldn’t talk Tarrlok out of changing his mind before we left Republic City, and I can’t physically overpower him _or_ run away, not with his bloodbending. Even though it’s illegal and Master Katara always told me what an evil abuse of power it was, I even tried to learn it to see if that would give me the edge I need against him…but you probably saw how _that_ went.”

"I did." Aang tilts his head to the side slightly, watching her. There’s no disappointment or condemnation in him, only sorrow. 

"Ugh." Korra buries her head in her hands again, defeated. "Can I ask you a question, Aang?" she finally says, her voice muffled.

"Of course! I’ll try to help you in any way that I can."

"If I do have the potential to make a spiritual connection, why did I fail earlier? As soon as Tarrlok brought me to the Earth Kingdom and I realized that the White Lotus and the Republic City police had no idea where to find us, and that I had to handle the situation on my own, I tried so hard to get into the Avatar State - to use that to overpower Tarrlok, just like you had done to Yakone. Why didn’t it work? I could have taken him down then, more than a _month_ ago, and gotten us back to Republic City. It would have saved me so much trouble and I would have never had to learn bloodbending.”

Aang’s lips twitch like he’s trying to suppress a smile, and Korra eyes him suspiciously. “What?”

"The Avatar State isn’t a bailout, Korra," he tells her gently. "We don’t tap into the power and knowledge of our past lives to give us the easy way out of a problem, no matter how difficult or seemingly insurmountable it may be." 

Korra scowls in genuine confusion, raking her fingers through her hair. “Isn’t that how it works sometimes, though? I remember learning about Avatar Rei, the one from the Fire Nation, a long, long time ago - she was taken prisoner by an enemy general when she was fifteen, and she awakened the Avatar State for the first time to defeat him and free herself.”

Aang grimaces, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Avatar Rei was in mortal danger,” he replies quietly. “The general raped her and fully intended to kill her, so her pain and desperation drove her into the Avatar State as her last means of self-defense. Thankfully, your situation hasn’t…disintegrated, to that point.” 

Korra shudders, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. “You’re right,” she says, under her breath, and she can’t help but think back to the bloodbending _demonstration_ Tarrlok had inflicted on her, weeks ago. As scared as she had been, he hadn’t crossed that line - hasn’t ever come close, in all the days of her captivity - and she’s thankful for that.

Aang tries to smile, as he traces stick figures of both of them in the snow. “I’m sorry that you felt like we had abandoned you. That’s not it at all. As hard as this situation is for you, it’s a learning experience, just like I and all the Avatars before me had to go through.”

Korra stares at him incredulously. “A learning experience?” she replies slowly, struggling to comprehend his meaning. That was the _last_ thing she would classify this ordeal as. “What exactly is this supposed to be teaching me?”

"I’ve been watching over you since you were born, Korra. I’ve seen you grow up, and I know you. You’re great, you really are!" Aang grins at her proudly, and the sight fills her heart with warmth. "You’re an an amazing and talented bender, too. But I really think it’s time for you to understand that fighting, combat, and confrontation, are not always the way to find answers to the problems that you face. Using force shouldn’t be your first resort for every difficult situation that you’re in. As the Avatar, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, you’re going to have to resolve issues and maintain balance not through fighting - but by using patience, diplomacy, a thorough understanding of the opposite viewpoint, and good communication."

Korra blinks, taken aback. Her first, reflexive instinct is to feel defensive…but she can’t. This is Aang talking to her, one of the wisest Avatars to have ever lived, and she has to trust him. He would never give her poor guidance. “All right,” she says uncertainly, still unsure of how to apply his advice to her problem. 

Aang rests his hand over hers. “Trust me,” he tells her earnestly. “This is an important lesson for you to learn. It’ll help you a lot when it’s time for you to deal with the Equalists back in Republic City, and throughout the rest of your life as well.”

"I do trust you, it’s just that…" All the breath leaves her body in a long sigh, as she presses her hands into the snow, watching them sink. "I feel so stupid," Korra confesses, feeling tears prick at the back of her eyes again. "You wanted to teach me how to deal with this nonviolently. And I responded by trying to learn _bloodbending,_ the worst thing there is _._ How am I even your reincarnation? I’m such an idiot.” 

Her entire body slumps with guilt as she thinks back to the desperate contortions of the panicked rat she had experimented on, and the palpable confusion and fright of the wolfcat in the woods. Korra sniffles, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. She had never, ever thought of herself as the kind of person who would inflict pain on innocent animals, no matter what the provocation was, but that was exactly what she had done. “Tarrlok was right about me,” she murmurs. “I’m just as extreme as he is. I guess we’re not that different after all, and that scares me.”

Aang rests a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I don’t blame you, Korra,” he says softly, genuinely. “You were desperate, and the most important thing is that you learned from the experience. You did eventually realize that it wasn’t the right course of action. You stopped before it was too late, and I know you never want to do it again - on Tarrlok or Amon, or any other enemies you might have in the future.”

"I thought my only choice was to fight fire with fire…but I know now that wasn’t the right thing to do." She looks over at him, shrugging helplessly. "I just feel so confused. I don’t know how to do what you suggested. If I start trying to persuade Tarrlok that what he’s doing is wrong and that he needs to take us back to Republic City, he’ll just get mad and shut off my vocal cords or something."

"That’s probably true, and you’ll want to take a more subtle approach. All of this will help you develop some subtlety and patience as well." Aang gathers a handful of snow, mulling her words over. "It might help you to think about it like one of your pro-bending matches. Play to your opponent’s vulnerabilities to get them where you want, but remember, you’re not attacking physically."

Korra sighs, annoyed, pounding together a snowball and throwing it into the distance. “Tarrlok doesn’t have any. His heart is made out of stone and icy water runs through his veins.”

This time, Aang smiles. “You know that’s not true. Everybody has vulnerabilities, Korra.”

"Can you please enlighten me?" she pouts. "The only thing I can think of is comparing him to Yakone, and that’s probably going to get my vocal cords disabled permanently."

Aang laughs. “No, that’s not it. What you’re looking for is more obvious. I think you could even say it’s staring you in the face, if you would just open your eyes.”

His last words echo in her mind, and suddenly, the landscape all around her is fading to black. As abruptly as she had entered into the Spirit World, she’s leaving. Korra reaches out in panic, to the man she’s only technically known for just a little while, but who already feels like a lifelong friend. _Aang, don’t go yet, please—_

_It’s okay, Korra,_ he reassures her. _We’re out of time now, but I’ll see you again soon. Remember what we talked about._

Korra opens her eyes to find herself facedown on her bed. The fur pelt under her is damp with tears, and she crawls under it and pulls it over her head. Part of her feels relieved at the fact that she’s finally managed to cross over into the Spirit World - it means she’s making progress in her growth as an Avatar, getting more in touch with her spiritual side. All the meditation over the past several weeks has finally paid off. 

Another part is devastated because the glimpse of Aang had been too brief. It felt like almost as soon as their conversation had started, it was already time to leave. She’d wanted to ask him if Tenzin and Pema and the kids were safe; if Pema had her baby yet; how things were going in Republic City. 

And yet another part of her is confused over what to do now, and what vulnerability of Tarrlok’s Aang had been referring to that was _staring her in the face_ and could possibly be a key to her getting them back to Republic City. She had always thought that she didn’t have a chance at talking him out of this, but isn’t that what Aang had been implying?

As short as it was, her crossing over to the Spirit World had been exhausting, even more so on top of all the emotional strain of the day, and her head hurts. Korra lapses into a deep sleep, punctuated with dreams of penguin sledding, diving for tiger seals, and chasing terrified wolfcats through the woods with fish, trying to make amends to them. _I’m sorry,_ she calls, over and over again. _I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you—_

She jerks awake, gasping harshly for air. There’s a hand on her arm. 

"Korra?"

Not Aang.

Korra uncurls her stiff muscles, pushing herself into a sitting position. Tarrlok helps her up, giving her a concerned look. “Are you all right?”

"I’m fine," she replies, taking care to keep her tone as casual as possible. The trip into the Spirit World can remain her little secret. "I just had a headache."

It seems like he buys it, but then he rests a few fingers lightly against her temple. Korra blinks, suppressing the urge to lean back, while trying to keep her heartbeat from accelerating as she wonders whether this is some kind of bloodbending lie detector technique. Before she can even finish that train of thought, though, Tarrlok moves his fingers ever so slightly, and the pain in her head and around her eyes vanishes.

Korra touches her forehead, startled. “Did you just…?”

"There are other applications for bloodbending, besides the obvious," he answers dryly. "I assume you feel better?"

"Definitely." The smile she gives him is wide and genuine, for the first time in days. "Thank you."

Tarrlok clears his throat, appearing somewhat flustered - and not in the sulky way he gets whenever his students have been particularly difficult, either - before he pats her on the hand. “Stay and rest. I’ll take care of dinner.” 

He ignores her halfhearted protest, and Korra settles back against the pillows, watching him go. Another tiny frown knits her brow as she looks down at her hand, and then back to the vase of orchids at the bedside table.

_What you’re looking for is more obvious. I think you could even say it’s staring you in the face, if you would just open your eyes._

Aang’s words echo in her mind, and Korra stares at the flowers, numb.

Her first instinct is to laugh, actually. Surely it can’t be possible. But when she thinks about it, _really_ thinks about it, a hundred small, seemingly inconsequential things all begin to add up at once. The fact that Tarrlok seems surprisingly content with the domesticity of their current situation, regardless of his loss of status and political power and that high-paying job back in Republic City. It explains how much he wants to pretend that everything between them is sunshine and roses and normalcy, and how much he wants _her_ to comply with that little fantasy as well. And it explains how stressed and frustrated he gets when she reminds him that no matter how much relative freedom he gives her and how kindly he treats her, she _is_ a prisoner, she resents being forced into this situation, and she would do anything to escape. 

Korra had always thought that all of the little things Tarrlok did for her were solely motivated by the desire to make her content enough that it would discourage her from resistance, and create a kind of complacence. Buying an expensive new radio that picked up signals all the way from Ba Sing Se, so she could listen to pro-bending matches. Finding her books of artwork depicting paintings and drawings of landscapes from around the world, because she had told him once that she wanted to travel to all the different nations like the Avatars before her, but the Order of the White Lotus had never allowed her to leave the South Pole. Keeping her company in the evenings, on the coast, when her loneliness and homesickness became too much to bear, and distracting her with waterbending and conversation and stories of the North Pole. Comforting her after her nightmare and trying to assure her that as long as she was out in the middle of nowhere with him, she would be safe from whatever Amon had planned for her. 

She had never imagined that Tarrlok wanted to make her happy just…for the sake of it, in the hopes that her feelings toward him would soften. That explains a lot of other things, too - like the fact that maybe his holding her hand or wrapping an arm around her waist while they walk isn’t just for the sake of aggravating her, or maintaining their cover. It explains the way he had kissed her forehead that one morning, in the privacy of their house, and _maybe_ even his insistence on forced cuddling, too. There have been times she’s caught him looking at her a little too long - not in a creepy way or anything, thankfully - and suddenly, it all makes sense.

Korra’s hands fist in the fur pelt, holding it in a white-knuckled grip. The last time she had felt quite like this was in the pro-bending tournament, when she had gotten unexpectedly slammed by an earthbending disc to the chest. She breathes in and out, trying to calm herself, struggling to come to terms with the feelings rising in her chest.

She closes her eyes, focusing instead on the one coherent thought chasing itself in circles through her mind. _It’s time for a new plan._

-

_to be continued_

-

Not a lot of Tarrlok in this one, but that will change in the next part. :)


	5. Part Five

In the end, after modifying his approach, Tarrlok had become quite a good hunter.

He wasn’t the strongest or the fastest, but he had the hunter’s instinct, and nearly perfect aim.

He never rushed in, like so many others did. He would stalk his prey for hours, searching for the most vulnerable targets. The young and the elderly; the sick and the weak. And of course, the solitary, separated from the pack. He lured them to him with trails of bait until they were within range, and then he struck. His success rate was nearly one hundred percent.

It’s been years since his last hunting trip, he realizes, as he slides the seared fish on top of the bowl of rice. After a few moments of thought, Tarrlok slices the fish in half and and carefully plucks out the translucent bones, one by one. 

Korra is the one who tracks down wild game, now, but he’s taken care to keep his instinct from dulling, through the long years of comfort in Republic City - where food had been bought from the market or from restaurants, not killed with one’s own bare hands. More often than not, it kicks in during situations that have nothing to do with hunting in the literal sense. It’s a fine intuition; it had been invaluable in his tenure as a politician. Knowing exactly what to say or do, and when and how to say or do it in order to achieve the desired results, is a wonderful asset.

Tarrlok pours some of Korra’s favorite spicy sauce over the rice and wonders whether she might finally be where he wants her - truly, this time, and not deceiving him as part of some ill-conceived escape attempt. He can say with confidence that she knows better by now. Everything that had happened had been sincerely regrettable, but now that he considers it, perhaps it had been necessary. Korra had been broken into pieces by the failure of her last hope, and now that she has finally hit rock bottom and realized that all resistance and rebellion is ultimately futile, there is nowhere to go but up.

With his help, of course. A little support, attention, and tenderness should go a long way in her current state, even with somebody as stubborn and contrary as she is. If he continues to show her kindness, Korra will warm up to him and come to view him in a more favorable light - especially now that she’s in a more vulnerable place than she has ever been. It’s human nature, after all. At this point, it’s just a matter of being patient, and when it comes to getting what he wants, he is very good at being patient. 

Tarrlok takes the bowls of food over to their room, figuring that now is not the time to worry about spilled grains of rice attracting rats. Korra is sitting on the window seat, staring out the window with an unusually pensive expression on her face. She glances over at him when he enters, and thanks him for making one of her favorites with a bright, unguarded smile. Her small fingers brush his when she takes the bowl from his hand, and Tarrlok can’t help but think back to the way he had comforted her after her nightmare the previous night. He wonders if she remembers it or if she had forgotten, after drifting back to sleep. She pulls her legs close to her body, making room for him to sit. 

When he does, Korra asks how his day was, in between large mouthfuls of food that make her cheeks puff out like a chipmunk’s, and Tarrlok is surprised all over again at how sweet she can be when she’s being cooperative and agreeable. He spares a moment for gratitude that she is neither a specialized healer or a bloodbender, and therefore has no way to sense the involuntary quickening of his heartbeat as he replies to her, his tone as steady and casual as ever.

They talk for more than an hour, until Korra unexpectedly falls asleep, still curled against the window seat, in the time it takes him to take their empty bowls back to the kitchen. Tarrlok brushes a stray lock of hair away from her face, careful not to disturb her, and he notes that she’s appeared much less energetic than usual over the past couple of days. Normally she never misses the opportunity to go out to the coast at night and do some waterbending, and his shoulders tense up at the possibility that her body might still be feeling the aftereffects of the bloodbending he had used to force her back home. 

_Home._ Korra still doesn’t consider it as anything more than a very comfortable prison cell, which stings, considering the effort that he’s already put into the endeavor. He’ll have to work harder to change that.

Tarrlok lifts her up and sets her on the bed gingerly, and she doesn’t stir. He can’t bring himself to risk waking her by holding her, pinning her limbs, like he has for the past weeks. He gives her space for the first time in a long time - _why not,_ he thinks bitterly, knowing that Korra won’t try to run again, after this. At least, he hopes not. He doesn’t want to have to bloodbend her again. For the past two nights, every time he closes his eyes, he can’t help but think back to the way she had looked when he had found her afterwards. And part of him _does_ want to wake her, now, to tell her, _see, this is how easy it can be, not terrible and painful and frightening at all._

The last thought that crosses Tarrlok’s mind before he falls asleep is the realization that he’s grown used to the feeling of her in his arms.

-

The next day, Korra begins her new plan of attack - _nonviolent_ attack, she emphasizes to herself, remembering what Aang had told her - in earnest. She locks herself in the study while Tarrlok is at work and draws herself a neat (or, well, not so neat; Katara had once told her that her drawing skills were a lot like Councilman Sokka’s) little strategy plan. It’s a rendition of the pro-bending field, with her and Tarrlok staring at each other from opposite sides of Zone One. 

His goal is to knock her out of Zone Three and get her in the water; the water representing total defeat and brainwashed acceptance of her new life as a hostage. Her objective is to get him in the water as well, except this time, the water represents an agreement to return to Republic City. And the only way she can do that is to get under Tarrlok’s skin and into his heart, and exploit his feelings for her - she still can’t quite wrap her mind around the thought - until she becomesthe one pulling the strings in this situation. 

Korra stares at the paper for several long moments, committing its details to memory, and then sighs, incinerating it with her firebending. She has the feeling that this is going to be a lot more challenging than a real pro-bending match. It’s the first time she’s ever attempted to solve a problem without using sheer brute force, or her bending. At this point, though, there’s no other choice. Aang had told her that it would be a valuable lesson to learn, and if this experience is going to help her grow as the Avatar, she’s willing to try anything. 

So, over the next several days, she replaces physical attacks - firebending blasts, prisons of rock, daggers of ice - with subtle, calculated emotional warfare. She plays the _'I've resigned myself to my fate, accepted that there's no way out, and decided to make the best of it'_ angle again. Tarrlok seems more willing to buy it this time around, because both of them know that escape attempts and attempts at physical resistance are truly futile. Korra, in turn, finds that it’s actually not as hard as she expected it to be. All she has to do - so far; she won’t let herself think of what comes next - is give him the impression that she has peacefully surrendered and is relatively content with her lot in life. 

It’s not a torturous process. During the period prior to her last escape attempt, when she had been trying to lull him into a sense of false security, she had been surprised to discover that Tarrlok actually wasn’t bad company. As long as she played nicely, so to speak, he was happy to return the courtesy. And sure, he _is_ a smug, annoying, know-it-all priss, but Korra can think of worse captors to have. Much worse.

…Like Amon, for instance. She can’t imagine chatting with or spending time with Amon like she does with Tarrlok _._ What would Amon even do for fun, anyway? Probably just make speeches at her or something and bore her to tears. He certainly wouldn’t waterbend with her in the ocean at night, after dinner. 

Korra grimaces at the thought, making her way out of the bedroom to find Tarrlok sprawled out on the sofa in the sitting room. This is not unusual, down to the detail of the hot towel thrown over the upper half of his face, which has a rather melodramatic, long-suffering expression on it. She bites her lip to hold back a scoff of amusement, as she throws his parka at him.

"Get up, loser. We’re going waterbending."

Tarrlok shakes his head, dislodging the hot towel, and stares at her in utter disbelief. “…What?”

"I _said,_ " Korra repeats, with exaggerated slowness, placing her hands on her hips. "Get up, _loser._ We’re going waterbending.”

"I am an upstanding and highly academically qualified member of the community, who has taken on the noble responsibility of educating the next generation," Tarrlok replies icily, tugging the towel over his forehead and eyes again. " _You_ kill animals for a living and once told me that six multiplied by seven equaled fifty. You might want to reexamine your word choice.”

Korra laughs, collapsing onto the sofa’s armrest and pulling her boots on. “Oh, please. First, who needs multiplication anyway, and second, if you tried to do my job, you’d end up shooting yourself in the face.” 

"I would not."

After staring at him for several moments, realizing that he isn’t going to get up, probably just to spite her, Korra uses waterbending to freeze the towel to his eyelashes. Tarrlok actually yelps in shock and horror, sounding like a kicked puppy, and Korra giggles so hard that she slides from the sofa to the floor.

He unfreezes his eyelashes, tosses the towel aside, and gives her a murderous glare, unaffected by her playful grin. “Very well, Avatar,” he says grimly, pulling on his parka and boots. “You wanted waterbending, and you’ll get it. Let’s go.”

"Wow," Korra teases, following him outside, into the cold night, and toward the forest. Technically it should be avoided at night because of armadillo-bears, but the coastline is just a few minutes away when they take this shortcut. "I’m shaking with fear. Literally trembling _,_ because I’m so afraid of someone who was lying on the sofa and pretty much passing out after a few hours of dealing with some kids.”

“ _Six_ hours, with _thirty-five_ children. If you had to do what I do all day, you would have an aneurysm _._ ”

"Oh, sure. I bet the kids would hate me a lot less than they hate you." 

Tarrlok considers it, and then frowns. “That is likely.”

Korra smirks up at him, satisfied, and narrowly avoids tripping on an exposed tree root. Tarrlok grabs her hand at the last moment, and instead of letting go when she regains her footing, she casually tangles their fingers together, arguably under the pretense of sharing warmth. As close as they’re walking, her shoulder bumping against his upper arm, she can feel all the breath leaving his body in the quietest of sighs, as he squeezes her hand lightly.

It’s that easy. Like taking candy from a baby - not like she’s ever done that before, but apparently it had been one of Ikki’s favorite things to do with Meelo, before his teeth came in. This entire thing with Tarrlok is fairly straightforward: take a guess what he wants, give it to him, and then watch him simultaneously preen like a smug alpha wolf on the outside and melt like butter on the inside. (It’s weird and strangely endearing all at the same time.)

It’s not like she’s completely naive and deceit is utterly foreign to her, after all. Korra wouldn’t call herself a pathological liar, but growing up in the Order of the White Lotus compound had helped her master the art. Regularly, she would pretend to be over-exhausted, injured, or sick, and ask to have dinner sent up to her room, so she could eat early and sleep. As soon as she received the plate, she would feed its contents to Naga, sneak out of the compound, and head back home, to where her mom and dad would be waiting for her, with hugs and food and stories. They would spend hours together, from evening to midnight, because _really,_ seeing them only twice a week for a couple of hours each time just wasn’t enough. It had gone on for years, and she had never been caught. 

Playing pretend had gotten her what she wanted then, and it will, eventually, get her what she wants now - the freedom to return to Republic City. But then the forest floor gives way to sand, the light of the moon finally shines down on them, unencumbered by the canopy of the trees, and the ocean beckons, and there’s no time to think about all of that anymore. 

-

The water whip catches Tarrlok right across the face.

He stumbles backward, quickly regaining his balance, before Korra can strike again. He would never have let it hit normally, but they’ve already been fighting for more than half an hour, and his form is getting sloppy. She disperses the tidal wave he sends in her direction with an effortless sweep of her hand, turning the water beneath him into a whirlpool. Tarrlok counteracts the technique before he can lose his footing, and then moves quickly, smoothly, freezing the ocean into solid ice.

Korra struggles, captured knee-high in the block of ice. “Hey!” she complains breathlessly, pouting in outrage. “Icing isn’t allowed! Cheater.”

Tarrlok smirks, stepping close to her, purely for the satisfaction of seeing the pout get even more pronounced. “We never agreed to play by pro-bending rules, now, did we?”

"They’re not pro-bending rules, they’re Southern Water Tribe rules," she corrects, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring. "Common decency says that you don’t ice your opponent."

They’re so close together that Tarrlok has to casually move his hands behind his back in order to stifle the temptation to do anything untoward. It would be better not to rush things. “Well, Northern Water Tribe rules say that you can do anything in order to win the fight.”

Korra narrows her eyes at him, unimpressed. “You know, I feel like this summarizes all of our differences back in Republic City really well.”

"Taking a lenient position and showing your _common decency_ toward the Equalists would have lead to the city falling within months.” Tarrlok raises an eyebrow, pacing in a circle around her block of ice. “Just like it leaves youcompletely at my mercy now.”

He is briefly distracted by the way Korra’s full lips quirk upward in amusement. “Oh, I wouldn’t say _completely_.”

The ice shatters, and before Tarrlok can do more than blink in shock, he’s doused from head to toe in a wave of freezing seawater. He bends the water out of his eyes   - the salt makes it sting, and fills them with tears - and pushes his dripping hair back, to see Korra giving him the most smug, self-satisfied grin. “You forgot that I can firebend with my feet.”

"You can’t firebend during a waterbending fight," Tarrlok glares, trying his best to keep from shivering. "And you say _I’m_ a cheater.”

"But I’m not cheating! I’m just playing by Avatar rules."

Korra punches the air triumphantly, and the temptation is irresistible. Tarrlok sends a creeper of ice underwater, wrapping around her ankle, and he has the satisfaction of seeing the delighted expression on her face shift to one of surprise, before she’s pulled face first into the water with a loud splash. 

Tarrlok retreats to the safety of the sand, feeling rather pleased with himself. A few moments later, Korra - weighed down by her soaked dress, with seaweed tangled in her disheveled braids - drags herself out of the water and collapses beside him. “I hate you,” she gasps. “I hope you eat dirt and die.”

Tarrlok shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Really, Korra, such venom is uncalled for. Did you kiss your mother with that mouth?” 

Korra laughs unexpectedly, throwing her arm over her forehead. “She thought it was cute, how much like my dad I was. Am, I mean. You should have heard the two of us swearing at the referees and whatever team we weren’t rooting for whenever we listened to pro-bending matches on the radio.” She beams at the sky, at the same stars that shine down over the South Pole. “We started doing that when I was four or five or something.” 

Somehow, this doesn’t surprise him. Every few evenings, when the pro-bending matches in Ba Sing Se take place, Korra huddles up in front of the radio, putting her face about an inch from it, and staring at it with an expression of purest glee and rapt attention. Those are the nights he has to grade his students’ papers in a different room, because of her propensity for shrieking profanities incoherently, out of joy or frustration or both. Envisioning her sharing the experience with her father - who Korra had once described as _like seven feet tall, and the best warrior and the coolest person ever -_ is an oddly endearing, if saddening, mental image. Tarrlok can’t figure out whether the melancholy comes from guilt at taking Korra away from Republic City and effectively ensuring that she will never see her parents again - or whether it’s born out of a kind of jealousy and resentment of her, for having a relationship with her father that is polar opposites from the one he shared with Yakone. In any case, he doesn’t like to think too much about either of the two options.

"Tell me about the South Pole," he says impulsively, if only to distract himself from the sour aftertaste, of sorts, that thoughts of Yakone always leave on his mind. Korra’s voice always seems to wash that away quite well.

She jumps on the topic with enthusiasm, describing it so vividly that Tarrlok can see it in his mind’s eye, despite the fact that it’s one of the few places he has never visited. He stops her only once, several minutes into her story. “You went to live in the compound when you were five?” he asks, confused. He had always assumed that she had been older, ten or eleven at least. 

"Well, yeah." Korra frowns, digging her bare feet into the sand. "My parents were really against it, but the Order insisted." 

Her smile comes out more like a pained grimace, and he rethinks the teasing comment about how maybe that’s why she has no manners and a surprising lack of basic life skills. Before he had taught her how to cook, the only thing she could manage was boiling water. A few days ago, she had tried to mend a small tear in one of her dresses, and just watching the sorry attempt had been painful.

"They were pretty good about it, though," Korra muses now. "They let my mom and dad come over for dinner a couple of times a week, and at the end of every week, I had a day off to spend with them."

Tarrlok glances over at her sharply. “This strikes me as fairly inhumane treatment, for a child.”

Korra smirks, taking a handful of sand and patting it into a sphere. “Don’t feel bad for me, I just got really good at sneaking out. My parents thought it was the funniest thing.” She sighs, battering the sphere with her fist and causing a small explosion of sand. “I loved going back home. My mom and dad lived in this little igloo, and it was hung all over with fur pelts that Dad had had caught and skinned himself. He had a story for each one. Like, there was a black polar leopard pelt over the fireplace. A _black_ one - you know how rare those are. It stole a child from the village, before I was born, and my dad took it down before it could hurt anyone else.” 

She eyes him until he makes the appropriate sounds of awe and admiration, and then continues happily, flinging her arms out to illustrate her point, and nearly hitting him in the face. “On the walls, we had an amazing wolf-head helmet, too, and these hand-carved ivory spears and battleaxes that were _this_ long. And my mom is a great artist - she made the prettiest paintings and ice sculptures and bone carvings, and she put them everywhere, and it was the best.”

Korra stops dead, all of the breath leaving her body in a long sigh. She remains silent for a while, her gaze fixing on the moon unblinkingly, and Tarrlok belatedly realizes the impact that the discussion of home must have had on her. It had affected him, too, and he hadn’t expected that. 

He leans close, trying to minimize the damage he had inadvertently done, and brushes a light kiss to her temple. “Thank you for talking to me,” he says quietly, sincerely.

Instead of pulling away, Korra leans against him for a few moments, to his surprise. “Anytime.”

She stands up, then, just as Tarrlok was considering wrapping an arm around her, holding her close, to ward off the cold sea breeze. Korra dusts the sand off her dress, before offering a hand to him. “Get up, loser. I’m freezing and I need to get this seaweed out of my hair before it dries and gets all flaky.”

"…Is that how you’re going to refer to me from now on?" He takes her hand, and she pulls him to his feet with barely any effort. 

"Yep. And the best part about it is that you’re not creative at all, so you don’t even have a way to get back at me."

"I think I can come up with something, Korra…sweetheart."

"Oh, spirits," she complains, turning bright red and giving him a rather rough shove. "Not this again, _please_.”

-

It’s early morning on the first day of the weekend, but Tarrlok doesn’t indulge himself by sleeping in, as he normally does. It’s not like he could, anyway. Korra is getting ready for the day, and she’s unable to do it quietly. She bumps into things in the dark, accidentally closes drawers harder than is necessary, turns the shower up to an obnoxiously high pressure that makes it sound like there’s a raging waterfall in their bathroom, and, once she’s dressed, stomps around in her heavy boots, while crunching on burnt toast. 

He shouldn’t find any of it endearing or adorable, but he does, and he realizes for the hundredth time that he is too far gone.

"Oh, good, you’re awake!" Korra exclaims, heading back into the bedroom, holding a handful of freshly cleaned arrows in one hand and another piece of burnt toast in the other. She tosses the arrows down on the bedside table and then sits in front of him, pulling a couple of purple ribbons out of her pocket and resting them beside him. "Here, braid my hair."

Tarrlok gives the dark chocolate-brown locks, so much like his own, a gentle but exasperated tug. “Braid your own hair. You know how to do it - spirits know that it took you long enough to learn.”

"But I have toast," she whines. "I’m _eating._ And besides, you know you want to.”

Tarrlok gives a long-suffering sigh, before beginning to tend to it. It is yet another sign of progress, though. During the first three or four weeks that they had been in the Earth Kingdom, Korra had glared and tensed up and practically radiated defensiveness and unhappiness if he ever stood closer than a couple of feet from her. After the first and second bloodbending setbacks - the demonstration and her foiled escape attempt, respectively - she had literally been afraid of him. Thankfully, there’s no trace of that any longer. Even though the memory of how she had flinched away from his touch so violently still haunts him, Korra seems to be finally responding to his kindness in a logical manner. Hopefully all of the unpleasantness is behind them. 

"I mean, seriously, who wants to eat jackalope for their birthday dinner?" Korra asks, cutting into the comfortable silence and fidgeting impatiently. "Apparently, the mayor. The mayor _has_ to have jackalope for his birthday dinner, because it’s a family tradition. And it has to be the freshest jackalope possible.”

Tarrlok secures both braids with the lengths of purple ribbon. “Isn’t the butcher paying you well for this assignment?”

"Yeah, but I still have to wake up early on a weekend and go _all_ the way to the jackalope dens, and then take down enough to feed the mayor and his family and come _all_ the way back. Did I mention that I had to wake up early, and that mornings are evil?”

Korra looks over her shoulder at him and pouts, and he had never fully understood how much self-restraint he was capable of until just this instant - and the night on the coast a few days ago, now that he thinks about it. Tarrlok contents himself with placing his hands on her shoulders lightly. “I think you’ll live.”

"I hope so." Korra stands, gathers up her bow and arrows, and then somewhat awkwardly hugs him around the shoulders for a brief instant. Tenderness is not second nature to her, and it feels more like she’s trying to crush him than express affection.  "Anyway, there’s leftovers in the fridge, and I’ll see you later, have a good day, bye!"

She rushes out before he can say anything, and a few moments later, Tarrlok hears the front door slam. He sighs again, pushing his loose hair away from his face, and despite the temptation to try and get back to sleep, he gets up and gets ready. He only has a few hours in which to accomplish a lot of work.

There is only one furniture store in the town, maintained by an elderly merchant and his son. He passes it every day on the way to the school building, and has never done more than glance briefly at the window displays. Today, for the first time, Tarrlok steps into the tiny, crowded shop, glancing around cautiously and feeling rather out of place. The front room is packed with Earth Kingdom furnishings, as can be expected, although there are a pair of twin Fire Nation-forged swords mounted on the wall. 

The merchant’s son hurries out of a back room, holding a painting in each hand. “Hello, and how can I help you today?” he asks politely, hanging the paintings on the wall behind the front desk.

Tarrlok tilts his head, regarding the first painting with some fascination. It is a beautiful depiction of a cityscape at night, but he doesn’t want to purchase anything that can possibly remind Korra of Republic City. “I’m looking for traditional Water Tribe decor,” he explains. “My wife and I recently immigrated from the North Pole, and she’s feeling rather homesick.”

The half-lie slides smoothly out of his lips, and the merchant’s son nods fervently. “Of course, of course. We do have a small collection - follow me. And can I possibly interest you in any modern art today? We just received a new shipment from Omashu.”

"No, thank you." Tarrlok follows him to a dimly lit room that’s even smaller and more cramped than the front of the store, and he looks at the collection appraisingly. The merchant’s son tells him to let him know if he finds anything to his interest and leaves, giving him some privacy to survey everything at his leisure. 

It isn’t nearly as hopeless as he had feared. There are fox, wolf, buffalo yak, and polar leopard pelts of surprisingly good quality. They do have twin hand-carved ivory spears, each of them as tall as Korra is, and while there are no battle-axes, there is a matched set of long whale-tooth scimitars that gleam as black as night. An old, battered wolf’s head helmet rests on top of a cabinet that displays a wide array of ice sculptures and bone carvings of figures from tribal legends. 

It’s almost perfect. And when Tarrlok’s gaze finally finds the large oil painting of Tui and La hung on the opposite wall, he smiles.

He is busy admiring a bone carving of an eagle when the merchant’s son enters the room again. “Did you find anything you like, sir?”

"Yes," Tarrlok replies, setting down the eagle carving. "I’ll take all of it."

"…The _entire_ cabinet?”

"No, the entire room. And yes, I can pay the full amount today."

The merchant’s son blinks slowly - once, twice, thrice - and Tarrlok fights the impulse to smirk, as he reaches out and runs a hand over the polar leopard pelt. “By the way, would it be possible for you to dye this for me?”

-

It takes four trips to carry everything from the store to their house, and more than half an hour to strip the home of every bit of decor the previous owner had left behind. Tarrlok decides to take the discarded items back to the furniture store, because there’s no sense in letting it take up closet space. He returns home again, stares at the clock in a mild state of panic for a few minutes, and then begins the task at hand. 

Hanging the pelts on the walls is the easy part. Tarrlok rearranges the positions of all the carvings and sculptures around the house thrice, unsure of what should go where. After that, he realizes he can’t decide which walls should hold which sets of ceremonial weaponry and which should hold the painting, so he decides to try every possible combination of wall and decoration. At one point, the buffalo yak pelt falls down on his head and he walks right into the coffee table and stubs his toe. 

The whole endeavor takes an unexpectedly long time, and by the end of it, his shoulders ache and his head hurts. Tarrlok collapses on the sofa, leaning his head back against the cushions wearily, and propping his feet up on the coffee table; realizing with horror that some of Korra’s habits are rubbing off on him. In any case, a few minutes of rest can’t hurt, surely.

He wakes up what feels like only a few seconds later, to a prodding sensation in his hand. Tarrlok opens his eyes tiredly to see Korra perched on the sofa next to him. “Hey,” she says softly, the expression on her face unreadable. She’s still holding his hand. “Did you do all of this?”

He had been mentally rehearsing this scene for the past three days. He had come up with no less than five options of charming, subtly romantic things to say. But he’s still tired and half-asleep and all of them seem to be beyond reach, leaving him with the only reflexive response. “…No. It was Nini the Water Tribe ghost, obviously.”

Korra’s lips twitch, and she throws herself at him in an embrace so forceful that it knocks the breath from his lungs. Hardly able to believe his own luck, Tarrlok wraps his arms around her, tentatively holding her close. There’s no tension in her body as a result of the contact, and she cuddles up to him, resting her head against his chest. 

"I assume you like it, then?" he asks, after a few moments of savoring the closeness.

Korra picks up on the self-satisfaction in his voice and pokes his arm, but she still doesn’t pull away. Actually, she seems to be making herself comfortable, which means that she might intend to stay in this position for a while. “I _love_ it,” she replies enthusiastically. “Thank you.”

-

In the end, it’s pure boredom that brings Korra to the school building a few afternoons later. That morning, Tarrlok had told her that he was going to be staying an hour after class was normally dismissed to help a group of children who had been having particular difficulty with their writing assignments. She had returned from her hunt in the afternoon, spent a few hours training, meditating, and planning, as she usually did, and when she had finally emerged out of a long bath to find herself still alone, she impetuously decided to take a walk. 

Her walk lead her to the town’s small primary school, quite by accident. She stands outside the run-down building, looking at it curiously, and then a shark-like grin spreads across her face at the thought of finally getting to see Tarrlok in teacher mode. _Oh,_ she thinks, pleased. _This should be good._  

Korra steps inside as quietly as she can, not wanting to be disruptive, if only for the students’ sake. She makes her way through the tiny coatroom, where only a few thin, worn-out jackets hang on the rusted hooks, into the main room. It’s way too small for the thirty-five splintering chairs and desks shoved into the space. Tarrlok is standing at the chalkboard, writing out a few short, simple sentences - she’s never noticed it before, but his handwriting is pretty nice - and he glances over at her with a small smile. “Ten more minutes, sweetheart.”

Korra discreetly rolls her eyes in response to the nickname, and the five students sitting in front of him look back at her curiously, before turning back to their papers. There are two children - a little boy and a girl - sitting on the opposite corner of the room from her as well, and they eye her with suspicion, before huddling close together and whispering back and forth to each other. 

The chairs are all tiny enough that they look like they would collapse under her weight. Korra sits on a desk in the back of the room cautiously, breathing a sigh of relief when it stays standing, despite an ominous creak. She watches the lesson for a few minutes, fascinated by the odd and unnatural sight of Tarrlok interacting with small children. He’s more patient with them than she’s ever seen him, if a little awkward. Still, it’s just so unexpected, like seeing a sky bison that walks on two legs or something…

Korra loses her train of thought when the two kids she had noticed earlier shuffle up to her, and abruptly sit down at the desks immediately facing her. “Um,” she says uncomfortably, after a few moments pass, and they just stare at her like this is some kind of police interrogation and they’re waiting for her to confess to a multitude of hideous crimes. She looks over at Tarrlok for help, but he’s busy correcting somebody’s spelling. “Hi. Shouldn’t you two be writing or something?”

"We’re done. Now we’re just waiting for our cousin, since we have to walk home together." The girl who speaks up, in a squeaky little voice, is missing most of her front teeth, and has two short, scruffy ponytails that stick out from the side of her head. "Who are you?"

Korra tries to smile in a way that will put them at ease. “I’m Senna,” - ugh, no matter how many weeks that pass, she still can’t get used to introducing herself like that - “and I’m, uh, married to your teacher.”

The kids blink in unison, and Korra feels her face burning with embarrassment. 

"How?" The boy asks flatly. 

Now Korra blinks, somewhat taken aback by the question, as she reaches up and absentmindedly plays with her - _the,_ she quickly corrects - betrothal necklace. Does the kid really not know what marriage is? Surely that’s impossible. _She_ was pretty oblivious as a child, but even she knew, and this kid’s like five or six, so… “I - um - what do you mean?”

The girl cuts in this time, explaining it slowly and very patiently. “Teacher is old, like our dad. You look kind of like our sister.”

Korra stares, suddenly aware that this little chat has quickly gone from mildly uncomfortable to the most horrendously awkward conversation of her life in about ten seconds flat. The logical response, one that she’s sure that everybody they’ve met has taken for granted, is that it was an arranged marriage. They’re still the norm in the North Pole, after all, and in Water Tribe culture, an age difference like theirs isn’t scandalous at all. But she can’t really try to explain the topic of arranged marriages to little kids without walking away with a headache, which leaves only one real option.

"Well, you see," Korra begins, and she’s suddenly hit with a painful wave of memories, of telling outlandish stories to Jinora, Ikki, and Meelo. "It’s kind of a funny story…"

Both children edge even closer to her, a look of rapt attention sliding over their faces, and she can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm as she begins to elaborate on her fictional history. 

"…And meanwhile, your teacher, Taruq, met my uncle Unarock while my uncle was traveling all around the North Pole on his scientific study of - um - rocks. Anyway, one fine day, Uncle Unarock stopped by my village to take a break from his journey, and he brought Taruq with him, because they were rock study partners. And then—"

"What kinda name is Unarock?" the boy interrupts, scrunching his face up in distaste. "That’s a _weird_ name.”

The little girl elbows him in the ribs. “Be quiet, Chang!”

Korra bites her lip to keep from laughing. Okay, so she could have been better at thinking up a fake name for her fake uncle. “Anyway, the rest is history. As soon as we met, Taruq became enraptured by my free spirit and kind heart, my incredible wit, and my _stunning_ good looks.” She tries to toss her hair over her shoulder coyly, but gets her hand tangled in it in the process. “When he found out that I was the best hunter in the whole village, too, he just fell completely in love with me and he knew that he had to have me.”

"Wow," the girl breathes, looking entranced. Chang appears slightly queasy. "What happened next?"

"He gave me this pretty necklace and asked for my hand in marriage. I accepted, but then we had to move far away from the North Pole, because my dad was really, _really_ angry.” Korra beams, pleased with her own prowess at storytelling. “So here we are now.”

The girl rests her head in her hands and kicks out her feet happily. “That was a _really good_ story, Senna.”

"Teacher told us he was married to a nice and pretty lady," Chang agrees, nodding as though he’s just received spiritual enlightenment. "But we thought he was lying, because he’s so bossy and annoying."

Korra coughs in a futile attempt to mask her laughter. She had forgotten how much she liked children. “He’s really not that bad, you know.”

The kids look at her, making no effort to hide their skepticism. On the other side of the classroom, Tarrlok dismisses the five students for the day, and raises an eyebrow at her as he begins to erase the chalkboard. “I think it’s time for you to go, kids,” she manages, trying her best to keep a straight face. “It was nice talking to you, though!”

"Bye, Senna!" they chorus, before pushing their chairs back and dashing to the doorway, where they link arms with their cousin and leave.

Korra watches them go affectionately, before sauntering up to Tarrlok, behind the chalkboard, and wrapping her arms around him from behind in a brief hug. “Good job up there, tigerbear.”

Tarrlok takes her hands, guiding her around to his side and giving her a wryly amused look. “You too.” He runs his thumbs over the backs of her hands. “Those were _very_ nice storytelling skills. You’re a natural. But…Unarock? Really? And I was helping him do an academic study of rocks?”

Korra blushes, tilting her head up to him. “Shut up. I’d like to see you do better under pressure.”

"Oh, I would. And you did take quite a bit of creative license in the long list of your virtues. I don’t think I could call you very kind-hearted."

Korra pouts, all too conscious of the way her heart hammers against her chest; at the way Tarrlok’s gaze involuntarily flickers down to her lips. Oh, she knows where this is going, and her stomach feels like it’s full of butterfly-robins. She’s determinedly ignored or forestalled all the other potential opportunities for the past several days, but she can’t put it off for any longer. “Ouch. You know, you are _really_ hurting my feelings.”

And then Tarrlok leans down and matter-of-factly kisses her, like it’s the most natural and normal thing in the world, that the two of them should be together like this. His lips are soft, and he’s unexpectedly gentle about it, and he smells of chalk and his vanilla perfume-thing. It’s not until a few seconds have passed and Korra feels him getting ready to draw back that she remembers with a jolt that _oh,_ she has to do something. Uncomfortably aware of her own inexperience, she stands on the tips of her toes, applying some soft, tentative pressure of her own. She feels the muscles in Tarrlok’s arms relax, then, and he kisses her back with passion she had never imagined that he was capable of. 

It’s surprisingly nice. It’s not what she had expected at all. 

Tarrlok doesn’t push things too far, keeping it relatively chaste. When they finally pull away from each other, there’s is nothing calculated in Korra’s reaction, as she leans the side of her face into his hand, wrapping her smaller one around his wrist in a gentle grip. As he brushes his fingers against her cheekbone in a light, unbelievably tender caress, she realizes that can’t even remember the last time she blushed so hard. 

"You don’t really hate me," Tarrlok asks quietly, and she watches the way his throat moves with every word. "Do you?"

There’s nothing smug or self-satisfied in his tone. He’s not trying to mock her or throw her words back in her face to make a point. Korra tilts her head to the side, pressing another soft kiss to the inside of his palm. “No,” she replies, and she’s a little surprised to realize that it’s not quite the lie she thought it would be. “I don’t.”

-

_to be continued_

-

:) This chapter was more light-hearted in tone, but that was because Tarrlok narrated most of it, and Tarrlok is pretty much oblivious to more than half of the things Korra has been up to recently. 


	6. Part Six

As a child, Korra had loved to listen to stories about how her parents met. 

Tonraq and Senna had been friends ever since they were very small, because both of their fathers had been hunting partners. One day, when Senna was eighteen and Tonraq was twenty-one, he started to shyly leave wrapped presents for her outside of her family’s igloo before sunrise, so they were the first thing she saw when she slipped outside to head to work. Pretty seashells, candied seaweed, small bushels of arctic violets, and all the herbs that she needed for her work as a healer. New hand-made paintbrushes and carving tools to replace her old, worn ones, and slabs of beautiful, polished stone for her to sculpt.

Senna told Korra that for the longest time, she was completely oblivious to the fact that she was being courted, Water Tribe-style. Her mother knew, as well as her cousins and all of her friends, but they agreed to keep her in the dark for their own amusement. In the end, she remained oblivious until Tonraq kissed her in the middle of a nighttime waterbending practice session.

Korra thought it was all very sweet and romantic, but she demanded to know why her dad hadn’t bought her mom better courting gifts. _You should have brought a fresh eel-shark head with all the teeth still attached, Dad! Or leopard-walrus tusks, or a silver hunting knife, or a poster of her favorite pro-bending team, or a bag full of seal jerky, or a_ live _polar bear-dog for her to ride around on, like the warrior queens in all the legends, or—_

Her parents laughed, and her dad had ruffled her hair affectionately. _Korra, princess, any man who wants to court you is going to have his life’s work cut out for him._

Korra remembered screwing her little face up in a fierce scowl. _Nobody is going to court me! I’m going to stay single forever and ride a polar bear-dog through the storms in the tundra, throwing spears at leopards!_

Obviously, her five-year old self had no idea what fate had in store for her, and that in twelve years’ time, she would find herself being courted rather intensely by a bloodbender and corrupt politician turned primary school teacher, who also happened to be holding her hostage. If she had known, she would have burst into tears, hidden under the blankets in her parents’ bed, and never left the igloo again.

It’s funny, how life works out sometimes.

Korra raises an eyebrow, lifting the bracelet out of Tarrlok’s hands and surveying it carefully. “Wow,” she breathes, surprised. “What _is_ this?”

"It’s made of cat-gator teeth." Tarrlok looks down at it with mingled distaste and pride. "When I asked you how you would feel about jewelry, you told me that you were only interested if it was made from the crushed-up bones of your enemies. This was the closest thing I could find at the market."

Korra laughs, sliding the bracelet onto her wrist, and admiring the wicked, slightly yellowed teeth. “I was kidding! …Well, kind of, anyway, I just didn’t want any more girly presents. This is the one of the best things you’ve bought me so far,” she adds, casting a glance in the direction of their bedroom - which is laden with flowers and boxes of imported sweets, scented candles and bath oils, perfume, and little carved rosewood jewelry boxes. Every few days since their little encounter in the classroom a couple of weeks ago, he had presented a new gift to her, and much to her disappointment, none of them were eel-shark heads with all the teeth attached or leopard-walrus tusks. She did appreciate the presents anyway - but the onslaught was pretty overwhelming, honestly, and she wasn’t used to such luxurious things. 

Tarrlok sighs, now. “You are a bloodthirsty little wildcat with poor taste, and I’m just trying my best to appease you.”

He rests his hands on her waist, and Korra reaches up, tugging lightly on the fur trim on his shirt. “You know, you don’t have to bring me anything tomorrow, or the day after that,” she points out sensibly. “Or the day after that, either. And I’ll still let you kiss me.”

Tarrlok actually pouts a little at the prospect of having to restrain his urges to drown her in gifts until he can make her love him, looking genuinely perplexed. “But that’s not how it’s done.”

"Tarrlok," she sighs, exasperated. "Seriously? I don’t think _anything_ about this situation follows traditional Water Tribe customs.”

He frowns in the way that can only mean he’s getting into politician mode again, searching for a way to justify one of his controversial or extreme measures in front of the council. “Actually, I’m fairly sure you must have heard about that old tribal legend, with Princess Sila and the chief of the rival tribe, Kesuq—”

Korra rolls her eyes, lightly pushing him away. “That was literally a _thousand_ years ago, so it’s not really relevant now. And just so you know, for bringing that up, your window for trying to kiss me without getting punched in the face is ending in three seconds.”

Tarrlok wastes no time in pouncing on her. 

-

Overall, Korra reflects, the courting thing, and acting like a “normal” couple, isn’t that bad at all. To her relief, Tarrlok seems happy to let her set the pace of their new, fledgling relationship and dictate how far she’s willing to go at any given time. He’s never pushed her beyond her comfort zone, which she appreciates. That, in combination with the fact that she’s actually caught herself enjoying his company, forces her to conclude that…well, she _really_ doesn’t hate him, and perversely enough, that makes things more difficult and confusing than they were when she did.

The thing is, when her plan succeeds and she can convince Tarrlok into letting them go back to Republic City - once they get back, he’s going to face all kinds of criminal charges. Bloodbending, abduction, and malicious endangerment of the Avatar, at the very least. Altogether, just those three can carry a sentence of life imprisonment…or even execution, considering the fact that Yakone, Tarrlok’s father, had obviously managed to escape his life sentence in prison. Two months ago, Korra would have had absolutely no qualms about turning Tarrlok over to the Republic City police and seeing him dragged away in chains, to face whatever consequences the court saw fit. 

Now, though, things aren’t that simple. She definitely doesn’t want to see him executed for his crimes. She can use her influence as the Avatar to argue that there had been no real _malicious endangerment_ during the course of her captivity - Tarrlok had never treated her cruelly, after all, and he really didn’t wish harm on her. Even if she gets that charge struck and that _maybe_ saves him from execution, the two for abduction and bloodbending will remain, and those will guarantee him a life sentence in the Boiling Rock, the world’s most high-security prison. 

It’s hard for Korra to wrap her mind around. Kidnapping her and bloodbending everybody at City Hall had been a terrible thing to do, but Tarrlok hadn’t used his bloodbending to torture and hurt Tenzin and the others like Yakone had. He had just knocked them into unconsciousness in order to make his escape. It was an act of pure desperation. And even with kidnapping her - he isn’t keeping her here for any political purpose, to deliberately prevent her from working to stop Amon and the Equalist movement, _or_ to use her power as the Avatar to his own advantage. 

All of Tarrlok’s actions over those two days back in Republic City had been like the desperate snapping of a fearful animal backed into a corner. There was no denying that his abilities made him a very dangerous person, but they were a last resort. Chances were that Tarrlok would have never used bloodbending on her and taken her captive - and then, by extension, bloodbended the others - if she hadn’t lost her temper and challenged him that night in his office. Maybe they could have even worked out their differences after she had destroyed his office and thrown him down to the lower level of City Hall. He had seemed terrified of her, he had made no move to get up and fight, but she hadn’t given him the chance to surrender. She had come at him with those twin fireballs, and honestly, in reflection, Korra has no idea what she had planned; if she had actually wanted to burn him, or just scare him, or what. But she had seen the fear for his life in his eyes, and she had reveled in it, without stopping to think of what she was doing. _She_ had pushed him to what he had done to her in the lower level of City Hall. 

And this may be stupid, but considering how much they’ve come to know each other in the past months, she really doesn’t want to have his life imprisonment on her conscience. 

Korra glances down at her hands, shaking away the thoughts, as she pulls her day’s catch out of her bag and sets them on the pale white paper on the counter of the Earth Kingdom-style restaurant. Yesterday, the owner had asked her if she could bring skunkfish from the river, because apparently, some people actually liked to _eat_ those. She had obliged, gagging at the smell for the entire morning. Maybe those scented bath oils Tarrlok had given her will be some use after all; she’ll probably have to soak in them for an hour to get rid of this awful smell.

Korra hears the kitchen door creak, and she looks up sharply, startled out of her thoughts, at the Earth Kingdom girl approaching her. She looks about her age - well, her fake age, at least - and she wears an apron discolored by bloodstains, fat, and grease, over a green dress. “Hi!” she greets cheerfully. “You’re Senna, right, our hunter? My husband told me you’d be coming by with the skunkfish today.”

"Uh, yeah." Korra holds the last two fish upside down by the tail, before setting them down on the wax paper. "Here they are! Fresh and very…skunky."

The girl claps her hands, looking delighted, and not at all put off by the smell. “They’re so oily! They’re perfect. It’s going to be a total hit at our all-you-can-eat buffet night.” She offers her hand. “I’m Emi, by the way. I cook here, and I love everything you bring over.”

The two of them end up talking, right there over the counter as they clean, scale, and fillet the smelly fish, and Korra soon finds that Emi is just as relentlessly friendly and engaging as her husband, the restaurant owner, and her uncle, the butcher. Keeping track of all the details of her assumed identity and fictional history is as difficult as always, but Korra enjoys the conversation. After spending most of her time either in the company of dead animals or Tarrlok, it’s nice to have somebody to talk to who’s not a snarky sarcasm machine. Emi, a non-bender, likes all the same Ba Sing Se pro-bending teams as she does, and they quickly bond over that. As soon as they finish and wash up, letting Emi’s brother take over for his shift in the kitchen, the two of them walk outside, into the rain.

"Let’s go to the clinic," Emi suggests. "I want you to meet my friend, Roumei. She’s really great - we went to school together and everything."

The prospect of meeting another new friend is exciting, but Korra glances down at her dress dubiously. Emi had given her an extra apron, but that didn’t guard against the reek, and there are oil and blood splatters on her sleeves. Everybody that they’ve passed on their way to the clinic has either given them shocked looks or crossed the street, holding their scarves over their noses. “She won’t mind all of…this?”

Emi laughs. “She’s an animal doctor. A lot of times, she smells worse than we do.”

They find Roumei in the back of the clinic she shares with her husband, the town’s doctor for humans, applying a thick herbal poultice to burn wounds on a large bearded cat. Korra longs to reach out and heal it with waterbending, and she has to discreetly move her hands behind her back to curb the temptation. She contents herself with mixing more of the poultice for Roumei to apply, while Emi holds the cat’s head in her lap, trying to soothe it. Between the three of them, they finish with the cat and a similarly injured goat dog relatively quickly. “Fire scorpions,” Roumei explains, shaking her head in disgust. “There’s an infestation of them in some parts of town. It’s awful.”

Once all the animals are taken care of, the three of them go out for lunch, their combined stench successfully managing to clear out an entire restaurant and send the owners running upstairs. They sit at the bar, helping themselves to skewer sticks of kimono chicken until they’re full. It’s the first time in her life that Korra has actually interacted with girls of her own age for more than a few minutes, and she likes it a lot more than she thought she would. Growing up, for some reason, she had always just assumed that most girls were prissy and boring, just interested by dull things like fashion and boys. Asami had proved her wrong back in Republic City, and so do Emi and Roumei.

Spending time with the two of them makes her regret not making more of an effort to get to know Asami, actually. She had been dismissive of the girl, mostly viewing her as a rival for Mako’s attention, rather than seeing her as a person. If Asami was anything like Emi and Roumei, she had missed the opportunity to make a really good friend. She would have to fix that when she got back to Republic City - if Asami still wanted to be her friend in the first place, after being part of “Team Avatar” had gotten her arrested.

After their long lunch is over, Emi heads back to the restaurant to prepare for the evening shift, and Roumei to the clinic to do one last check on the animals before nigtfall, after the three of them hug and make plans to get together at the bakery next week for tea. Korra makes her way to the center of town, an extra chicken skewer in her hand, and feeling light and happy inside, despite the massive meal.

She catches sight of Tarrlok locking up the school building right after the last group of children run out, screeching with excitement and holding their coats over their head to protect them from the rain. Korra sneaks up on him as best as she can, before flinging her hands around his eyes from behind, effectively blinding him. “Guess who?”

"Only you," he replies dryly, turning around, and looking revolted. "Spirits, is that smell coming from _you_? I thought that the cabbage merchant had run over a cat-skunk with his cart again.”

"Nope, it’s me," Korra grins proudly, offering the skewer of chicken to him. "I caught a bunch of skunkfish this morning. Here."

Tarrlok takes it reluctantly, after determining that the smell hasn’t rubbed off on it. “And did you murder somebody while you were out in the woods?”

Korra shrugs down at the blood and assorted animal bodily fluids staining her dress, unconcerned. “No, _actually_ ,” _-_ she smiles her biggest smile, and even as vile as she apparently smells and looks, it motivates Tarrlok to wrap an arm around her as they walk, holding her close, and it’s little things like _that_ that make her insides curl up at the thought of him spending the rest of his life in jail - “I made some friends!”

"You did?" He looks surprised, before leaning down and kissing the top of her head. "Good. I’m happy for you."

"Me too." Korra starts talking, enthusiastically filling him in on everything, but even as she talks, she can’t help but notice that the scents that hang on her skin and clothing seems to be attracting every stray dog in town. They skulk out of alleyways and follow the two of them, sniffing eagerly at her boots and at the hem of her dress, and she apologizes to them in the middle of every few sentences, interrupting the flow of her story.

She’s in the middle of telling him about the ghost that Roumei swears haunts her house, when she loses her train of thought completely, stopping dead in the middle of the road. 

"Yes?" Tarrlok asks impatiently. "She saw that her books were scattered all out of order, and then?"

Noticing the look on her face, he follows her gaze to the alleyway next to the furniture store; to the long-furred dog staring at her with big brown eyes. Its fur might be white, underneath the layers of dingy gray grime. 

Korra wordlessly plucks a piece of chicken off the skewer in his hand, before reaching out to the dog. “Come here, girl,” she calls softly.

The dog trots forward quickly, taking the chicken from Korra’s hand with surprising gentleness. She sinks to her knees, petting it, stroking its face with her hand, and it presses its nose into her hand, searching for more. Tarrlok slides the few remaining pieces of chicken off the skewer, silently offering it to Korra, who feeds the enthusiastic dog with a smile on her face. “That’s all I have, girl,” she says, when it’s all gone, the smile fading. “I’m sorry.”

The dog looks at Korra, wagging her tail hopefully, but after a few moments, she licks Korra’s hand in farewell and bounds away.

Tarrlok helps her up, and she leans against him a little heavier than she had before, her story about the haunted house forgotten. He knows exactly what is on her mind, and he takes her hand and intertwines their fingers together, giving it a gentle squeeze, hoping it will convey the apology he doesn’t dare to speak aloud.

-

"I can’t believe you’ve never had a chocolate croissant before, Senna."

Roumei sets her plate of fruit pie down on the small table in the bakery that they’re all huddled around, shaking her head at Korra in mock disbelief. Korra shrugs, her mouth stuffed full to bursting with the hot, flaky, buttery, chocolate-y goodness. “Chocolate wasn’t exactly easy to come by in the North Pole,” she says, after she swallows the gigantic mouthful. “It was just candied seaweed, mostly, or sweetened fish eggs.”

"Oooh, I’ve always wanted to try those, but they’re just so expensive," Emi replies, digging into her slice of strawberry cake. "I like the seaweed, though."

"I’ve never had any of those," Roumei says, shaking her head sadly. "I’m allergic to seafood."

"Does seaweed count as seafood?" Korra muses.

The three of them think about it for a little while, before coming to the general consensus that it doesn’t, but considering that Roumei breaks out in the most awful and painful hives, it would be best that she not try and find out. “That’s a really nice dress, by the way,” Roumei points out, nodding to Emi. “Is it new?”

Emi nods proudly, smoothing her hands over the soft sea-green fabric. “My aunt and uncle sent it for an early birthday present, all the way from Republic City! The clothes they have there are _so_ much prettier and more modern.”

Korra almost chokes on her tea. 

"I know," Roumei agrees. "I’ve seen a couple of advertisements in the Earth Kingdom Times. You’re lucky that you have family there." She looks over at Korra. "Have you ever been?"

Korra nods, trying to remain calm, and suppresses the urge to fidget with her teacup. “Actually, I have,” she says tentatively, thinking fast. “Taruq and I stopped by there to break our journey for a couple of days on our way from the North Pole.”

Roumei drops her fork down with a clatter, leaning forward and looking star-struck. “Did you visit the university? It’s supposed to be one of the best establishments of higher learning in the world! And did you go to the aquarium? They have the only giant anaconda-squid in captivity!”

"Why did you never tell me you went to Republic City?" Emi almost wails. "Did you go dancing at one of those new jazz clubs? Did you get to see Avatar Aang Memorial Island?" 

Korra laughs despite herself, holding her hands up to ward off the onslaught of questions. “Actually, we couldn’t do much while we were there,” she replies carefully. “The city was in a pretty bad state. We heard that there was this terrorist group running around causing problems - the Equalists, or something. They destroyed the pro-bending arena and scared a whole lot of people a few days before we arrived in the city.”

"Equalists?" Roumei asks, wrinkling her nose. "What are they?"

Emi nods, setting her fork down. “They’re a group of non-benders who want to get rid of bending, because they feel like benders are unfairly privileged in society. They’re led by this guy - Amon? Anon? Something like that, anyway, who can actually take away a person’s bending.”

"How is that possible?" Roumei asks skeptically. "Avatar Aang was the only person in history who’s ever done it."

"It is," Korra replies quietly, her throat tight, and when the girls glance at her, she elaborates. "…We read in the papers that he took away the Wolfbats’ bending. They are - were - a pro-bending team."

Roumei shivers. “That’s really scary. Are they still out there?”

"Yeah, they’ve been really active," Emi says, and Korra feels her stomach turn over. "My aunt and uncle wrote about it in their letter. There used to be these groups of bending criminals that terrorized the city. Triads, they called them." She takes another bite of her cake. "The bending triads don’t exist anymore, thanks to the Equalists. Not a single one of them. So everybody in the city is a whole lot safer now, benders and non-benders alike."

The topic changes almost immediately after that, when the butcher’s sister walks into the bakery, catches sight of them, and immediately pulls over a chair in order to  spread some gossip and speculate about whether the onion merchant’s son is really smuggling drugs. Roumei offers to buy another round of desserts for all of them, but Korra politely refuses, on account of the large, heavy stone that seems to have grown in her stomach ever since Emi had mentioned Republic City. 

The girls all go their separate ways after tea - Emi to the restaurant, and Roumei back to the clinic. Korra makes her way home, lost in thought, Emi’s words about the current state of Republic City echoing in her mind. _The bending triads don’t exist anymore, thanks to the Equalists. Everybody in the city is a whole lot safer now, benders and non-benders alike._

Korra lets herself in and heads to the sitting room, where she flings herself down on one of the armchairs, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She isn’t sure what to think…but her thoughts drift to what Tenzin and Lin had told her about Hiroshi Sato’s motivation to join the Equalists; how Asami’s mother had been murdered in their own home by a firebending member of the triads. Immediately afterward, she remembers everything Mako had said as well, about his parents being killed right in front of him. She closes her eyes, flinching away from the mental images. 

The end of the bending triads is a good thing, of that she has no doubt. It’s just that the methods Amon had taken to finally destroy them were so extreme…

All the breath leaves Korra’s body in a long sigh, as she rests her forehead on her knees. At the same time, though, she _did_ read the newspapers back in Republic City, once in a while. She knew that, as good as the metalbending cops were, the triads were stronger. Law enforcement could never keep them down for long, or entirely prevent their violent turf wars. So she couldn’t say, in all fairness, that Amon and the Equalists should have left the matter for the police to deal with. The police tried. They failed. The violent crime and extortion continued. So Amon had taken the matter into his own hands. 

She thinks back to what Aang had done to Yakone, how he had taken his bending away. Would Aang have done the same thing to the firebender who murdered Asami’s mother, and the one who had killed Mako and Bolin’s parents? 

More importantly, maybe - if _she_ could do it, would she?

Korra sighs again, rubbing her aching temples. The issue is that, from what Amon had said at the Revelation, he wouldn’t be content with just removing the bending of criminals; men and women who abused their abilities and used them to harm others. If that was the case, maybe she could seek to reach some kind of compromise with him. But he wants to take _everybody’s_ bending away, including good, innocent people who have never abused their power. He wants to eradicate it from the world entirely, and how can that kind of erasure be the solution to the problems he sees? Wouldn’t it just lead to reversing the oppression?

Korra stretches her limbs out, before opening her eyes and looking up at the ceiling grumpily. She’s succeeded in giving herself a headache. Wonderful. The only time she likes thinking about ambiguous and morally complex issues is when she actually has someone around - Tenzin, Katara, hell, even Lin or Tarrlok - to discuss them with and bounce ideas off. Whenever she does it by herself, she just gets all confused and worked up, like a polar bear-dog chasing its tail. And trying to put herself in Amon’s shoes, to understand his reasoning and figure out if there’s anything she can do to dissuade him from certain goals of his movement - including his goal to destroy her, of course - is one of the most difficult intellectual tasks she’s ever set herself. 

Korra tilts her head to the side, drawing some abstract patterns on the velvet of the armrest with her finger. Her shoulders feel tense. As much as she appreciates the information that Emi had given her, in some ways, she wants to push it out of her mind. It drives her crazy to think that Amon and the Equalists are just wreaking havoc on Republic City, uncontrolled - because now that he’s finally eradicated the bending triads, he’s going to broaden his horizons and start targeting the rest of the benders in the city. And here _she_ is in a rural, faraway corner of the Earth Kingdom, utterly powerless to stop him. It makes her want to scream. She can’t even remember the last time she was this frustrated.

An idea crosses Korra’s mind abruptly, and she sits up straight, glancing toward the clock in the corner of the room. She relaxes a little, massaging her stiff shoulders, at the realization that Tarrlok won’t be home for more than an hour. She lingers in the chair, torn, for several minutes, before making up her mind; getting up in one smooth movement and walking over to the bedroom.

Korra draws the curtains shut, plunging the room into darkness, before pulling off her boots and tossing them aside, the tension she had felt earlier slowly being replaced by a particular brand of anticipation. 

It’s been a long time since she’s last done this. Several weeks, at least. She has been under more stress since Tarrlok had forcibly brought and kept her here than she has in her entire life - but her current circumstances have made engaging in her second favorite form of stress relief nearly impossible. Doing it at night is out of the question, because of him being in such close vicinity. Korra gets a thrill out of risky behavior, like deep-sea diving with the intention of wrangling and riding arctic eel-sharks, but even she’s not _that_ daring. There have been a couple of times she had been able to manage it during the daytime, before Tarrlok got home from work, but she was always afraid of him walking in on her unexpectedly. _That_ would be awkward, to say the least. She would probably die of mortification right then and there.

Korra pulls her dress off and tosses it aside, before undoing the wrappings around her chest and sliding into the bed, trying to make herself comfortable. She’s always loved the feeling of the furs against her bare skin. It’s just another one of the countless perks of being Water Tribe. She closes her eyes, tilting her head back and letting her mind wander. 

Howl, as the youngest and most attractive of the Order of the White Lotus guards, had been the subject of her fantasies for a couple of years, ever since he had first arrived in the South Pole. All of that had changed when she had met Mako…but after her little conversation with Tarrlok about Mako, where he had essentially accused her of homewrecking, it hadn’t been the same. Ever since then, whenever she thinks back to the kiss they had shared, she feels shame in the place of desire. The dreams involving Mako had stopped, which had probably been Tarrlok’s intention all along. If he really had feelings for her this entire time, he probably wouldn’t have been thrilled to hear her moaning Mako’s name in her sleep.

Korra sighs restlessly, shifting positions against the bed. She’s wasting valuable time here. Normally it isn’t this hard to get started, especially when she’s all wound up like she is now. 

_Tarrlok?_ she thinks suddenly, seriously debating it. She had actually been considering something like this on the way back from hunting yesterday. So far, as weird as it is to think about, she’s been more intimate with Tarrlok than she ever has with _anyone._ Until a couple of weeks ago, her sole romantic experience had been that interrupted kiss with Mako, which had only lasted a few seconds. And even though she doesn’t have an epic, raging, unbearably, uncomfortably large crush on Tarrlok like she did on Mako at the time, she still finds kissing him a lot more enjoyable than she had expected.

It helps that he’s not hideous to look at. Quite the opposite, really. The very first time she had seen him, when he had walked in on dinner at Air Temple Island…well, Korra had hoped that Tenzin and Pema hadn’t noticed her initial reaction, mixed in with the surprise. She’d immediately noticed that Tarrlok was the most handsome waterbender she had ever seen. He had all the best, classic Water Tribe traits - warm brown skin, clear blue eyes, broad, strong shoulders and jaw. He was tall, too, and confident, which she liked. And he smelled nice, and she actually liked the long, traditional hairstyle, and when he sat next to her, she hadn’t been able to keep herself from looking at his hands.

Sure, she had quickly discovered that he was a maddeningly persistent, manipulative jerk, after his aggressive recruitment attempts, and finally that incident with the press at the stupid gala he had thrown. Still, despite her best efforts, there had been a few times during task force raids that Korra had caught herself admiring his incredible strength and expertise, and the way his arms and shoulders looked when he was flooding buildings with hundreds of gallons of water, or flinging ice knives at fleeing Equalists. Tarrlok was untrustworthy and too ambitious for his own good, even then, but…she’s always been turned on by power and skill, and he had both of those in abundance. 

Everything had changed after that night back in Republic City, though. The shock and trauma of all the events that had unfolded after he had arrested her friends had effectively buried any trace of physical attraction she had held for Tarrlok - until a few weeks ago, at least, when she had really begun to pay attention to the different facets of his personality that had begun to emerge after arriving here. He doesn’t seem like the same power-hungry politician she had clashed with in the city. There are times, growing in frequency, when she feels like she actually _likes_ him. Not in the same way she had liked Mako…but as a friend.

_Finding out somebody has a thing for you does have a tendency to change your perception of them,_ Korra thinks to herself dryly. Still, the thought that she might be attracted to Tarrlok, physically, sexually, whatever, is still a strange one, considering their circumstances; even stranger than the times she’s caught herself thinking of him as a friend. It’s weird and she thinks it might be wrong and unnatural, but…

_Well,_ she considers. _I guess it’s time to find out._ Sometimes she did this, to try and figure out whether she was really attracted to someone or not. She tried it with Bolin in mind once, and it had just ended up being sweaty and kind of awkward.

Korra closes her eyes, trying to focus. It’s crazy - insane - but the first thing that comes to mind is the one she decides to go with. 

She imagines Tarrlok walking in on her, right here, right now, right this very instant. He would be surprised at first, but then he’d instantly realize what she was doing. He would smirk in his infuriating way and raise an eyebrow at her, and she can almost hear the wicked amusement in his voice, as he shrugs his sealskin bag off his shoulder and onto the floor. _Korra, sweetheart,_ he would ask, using that awful pet name that he’s so fond of. _Do you need some help with that?_

Korra gives a soft, involuntary moan, breathlessly nodding her head. Tarrlok would cross over to the bed in a few smooth strides, then, settling almost on top of her. He would kiss her a few times, running his fingers down the smooth, flat skin of her stomach, slowly, teasingly heading upwards, to brush against the sensitive undersides of her breasts, until she squirmed impatiently and tried to make him touch them like she wanted - but of course he wouldn’t for a few minutes, just to aggravate her. Tarrlok would kiss her neck after that, and then her collarbones, with the perfect combination of lips and teeth, and his skin would probably scratch against hers ever so slightly, because it’s evening and several hours since he last shaved. She’d breathe in the scent of his skin and hair as it fell over her, all spicy florals and vanilla, and then grab a handful of his hair as he slowly began to kiss her breasts. He would move her hand aside then, replacing her touch with his own, his long fingers easily finding the spot that never failed to reduce her to a gasping, trembling, breathless mess, and she would wrap her arms around his neck, scratching his muscled shoulders and back through his clothing, and—

The abruptness and the sheer toe-curling intensity of her climax takes her by surprise, driving all the breath from her body, and Korra slowly, reluctantly opens her eyes, after the waves of pleasure finally begin to recede. Her first instinct is confusion - evidently, she had pulled Tarrlok’s pillow on top of her at some point. She replaces it cautiously, feeling a little guilty, and then flops back onto the bed, nestling into the furs and enjoying the warm, tingly afterglow. She only lets herself indulge for a couple of minutes before she catches sight of the clock in the corner of the room. Figuring it would be best to get dressed again, Korra reluctantly pulls on her clothes. Her muscles feel limp, loose and relaxed, like water. 

Fully dressed, she sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing her neck a little shyly. _Well,_ she thinks ruefully, glancing back at the furs, and then at the pillow. That definitely answers the question of whether or not she is actually attracted to Tarrlok. And Korra has no idea how that makes her feel.

-

Korra steps inside and closes the door behind her, after returning from her now-customary weekly tea meeting with Emi and Roumei, and waterbends the rain off her hair and dress in one smooth movement, with a sigh of relief. The splash of excess water collides with the jasmine plant sitting on the small table where they both keep their keys, and she winces. “Tarrlok,” she calls. “I think I killed your flowers…”

Her sentence trails off when she hears a familiar clicking sound against the floorboards. It instantly takes her back seven years, to the memory of Naga as a puppy, waddling around the Order of the White Lotus compound by her side. With the exception of Katara, everybody she ran across had looked utterly horrified by her new companion, but she didn’t care. She was just excited that she got to keep her new friend.

Then the white dog she had seen on the street two weeks ago pokes its head around the corner, looking at her inquisitively with its large, soulful brown eyes, and Korra drops her keys on the floor, struck again by the sensation that had hit her the first time. It’s not Naga, she knows it’s not (there is no replacing her best friend), but it’s so much like her when she was young that it steals the breath from her body and makes it hard to breathe in again. 

The dog pads up to her, pressing its head underneath her limp hand, asking to be petted. She obliges, dropping down to her knees so that she’s at eye level with it - _her -_ and burying her fingers in the dog’s soft ruff, pressing her forehead to its own. It’s been so long since she held an animal so affectionately. Korra wants to ask her how she got here, and she wonders if the dog had slipped in through the back door somehow - but then she notices that she has a blue ribbon tied in a bow around her neck, and that she’s been washed. Her long coat is clean and shiny, and it smells of her shampoo.

The dog licks her on the face, and she laughs in surprised delight, leaning forward and bumping their noses together gently, in the same way Naga liked, and then scratching her behind the ear. Tarrlok finds them like that, and he leans against the hallway, watching them with a small smile on his face. “I know it’s not the same,” he says, a little awkwardly, when Korra looks up at him. “But I thought you would like having her around.”

It makes her chest tighten a little, as she realizes all over again just how much he wants her to be happy here…or, at least, wants to erase all of her will to get away. It’s just like the task force recruitment, when he had tried to break down her resistance with a steadily increasing number of elaborate, extravagant gifts, with the intention of backing her into a corner until she had no choice but to give in. But everything in Tarrlok’s demeanor - like the almost uncertain way he’s searching her face for a reaction - reminds her that his motivations are more personal this time around, and Korra reaches a hand out to him, pulling him down on the floor with them. The dog sniffs Tarrlok’s hair and wags her tail happily, and Korra embraces him tightly, before stretching up and impulsively kissing him on the lips.

"I do," she says, after they finally break apart, and she hugs the dog, not breaking his gaze. "…Even though you washed her with my shampoo."

"Of course I did. My hair care products are imported from the Fire Nation," Tarrlok replies, a little bit of his usual pompous air returning, "and—"

"They’re scented with real fire lilies and ginseng extract to keep it soft and silky, I know," Korra cuts in, rolling her eyes. "I forgive you." 

Tarrlok rubs his hand up and down her back, petting the dog with his other hand. She paces around in a circle and then lies down in front of them, her paws stretched out in front of her. “She’ll need a name,” he says, forgetting his usual prissiness for a moment, and letting her lick his hand. 

Korra hums thoughtfully, taking the dog’s face in her hands and turning it toward her, inspecting it closely, searching for any cues. “Nila?” she suggests.

Tarrlok shakes his head. “Her eyes aren’t blue.”

"You gave her a blue ribbon, though."

"…Still."

Korra gives an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. How about Sitka?”

"Sitka," he repeats slowly, looking at the dog. She perks her ears up at the word, and Korra beams. "Sitka it is, then."

“ _Good_ Sitka,” she says enthusiastically, throwing her arms around the dog and half lying on top of it, and Sitka gives a small, happy bark, wriggling her body and wagging her tail even harder. Korra likes her, even though she has no hope of filling the void Naga left behind, and she’s already wondering how they can take her with them when they go back to Republic City - which they will. Maybe Naga can adopt her as a puppy. “Welcome home, girl.”

Out of the corner of her eye, through the cover provided by her hair, she catches the brief look that passes over Tarrlok’s face as he notices her word choice. He leans over, kissing her on the forehead. 

They spend the next hour playing with Sitka. Korra is happy to have a dog around again, even if she can’t ride around on or play too rough with this one, and Tarrlok seems fascinated by it as well. It doesn’t take him long to revert to authoritarian slash teacher mode, and he tries to teach Sitka basic commands, like sit, lie down, stay, come, and go. Korra laughs so hard that she nearly pulls a muscle in her side when he insistently calls for Sitka to come, and she finally gets up, rushes across the room, and tackles him with such force that it nearly knocks him over. 

"I always wanted a pet," he tells her, breaking the comfortable silence, as he combs his fingers through Sitka’s ruff. "I grew up loving animals, ever since I was very small. The first toy I ever had was a stuffed wolf cub that my mother made me."

Korra nods, trying to hide her surprise. In all the conversations they’ve ever had, in the months that they have been here, Tarrlok has never brought up his childhood, and she never dared to ask, partly because she doesn’t want to know. Thinking of little Tarrlok, holding a stuffed wolf toy, makes her feel strange inside. “Did you ever…?” 

Tarrlok shakes his head tersely, his hair falling forward to hide his face. “Yakone believed that the only uses for animals were food, fur, and bloodbending practice.”

He’s old enough that his childhood is a couple of decades in the past, but there’s something dark and wounded in his voice all the same. Korra thinks back to the vision Aang had shown her, and she can’t help but shudder all over again, at the memory of what Yakone had done to him and everybody in City Hall. For the first time, she comes close to comprehending the enormity of what it probably meant to be _raised_ by that man, to have him as a father—

Well. It’s no wonder Tarrlok is as messed up as he is.

It’s not calculation that drives Korra to reach out and gently place her hand on top of his. The touch seems to draw him out of whatever dark place his thoughts are currently inhabiting, and he takes her hand absentmindedly, pressing it to his lips.

They distract themselves by making dinner. Sitka prances around the kitchen, excited by the new smells, and begging for scraps. When they finally finish, she clumsily jumps onto one of the chairs around their small table and buries her snout in a bowl of fish stew that Korra had made especially for her. Tarrlok looks utterly horrified, until Korra diverts him by rubbing one bare foot up and down his leg. Afterward, they take Sitka for a long walk on the coast, and laugh over the way she eats sand and chases oyster-crabs. 

It’s late when they finally come back home. Even Sitka seems drowsy, yawning widely and exposing her sharp teeth. “Where should she sleep?” Tarrlok asks, petting her head.

Korra frowns, considering it. “Well…when Naga was this size, she would sleep in my bed, next to me, or at the foot of the bed. Maybe we could—”

Tarrlok raises an eyebrow, looking at her in an oddly contemplative way that makes her fidget. “I don’t think so.” There’s a slightly awkward silence between them, before he adds, “She shouldn’t be out in the cold, though.”

In the end, they decide that she can sleep in the kitchen. Korra brings over an armful of old fur pelts, and Tarrlok helps her arrange them to form a dog bed of sorts. Sitka curls up on them and falls asleep within minutes. 

Tarrlok stays kneeling by her side, petting her gently, and Korra retreats to the kitchen counter, hopping up on it and taking in the strangely domestic sight. As she does so, she briefly considers the fact that she might be making some serious progress in her goals, and getting closer to having Tarrlok wrapped around her little finger, metaphorically speaking. Considering all the things he’s done for her, if she asked him for the stars in the sky, he’d probably find some way or another to give them to her. Surely it can’t be that large of a leap, from that to some gentle persuasion. What had Aang said? _Subtle._

It makes her feel confident, but at the same time, the thought makes something deep inside Korra curl up with apprehension. _Nothing comes for free,_ Pema had told her once, laughing over the story about her mishap with the food vendor shortly after arriving in Republic City. _You’re in a very different place now. You always have to give something to get something._

Korra rubs her arm uncomfortably. She knows what that _something_ is. On an abstract level, she had resigned herself to the inevitability of it weeks ago. She had been reluctant, of course; she had balked at the idea, and battered the old punching bag in the courtyard until it nearly exploded. But she hadn’t been able to find a way around it then, and she still can’t now. After all, her plan relies on Tarrlok coming to love her - really, truly, head-over-heels _love_ her - and sex is a part of almost all serious romantic relationships. 

So she has to do it. But at least she can do it on her own terms. And what better night than tonight? 

Part of her cringes away from the thought. An overwhelmingly large part. The truth is, she’s not ready, but there’s no time for her to wait until she _will_ be ready. That could be months; a year, even. This is about more than her feelings, or even the two of them. Every day that Tarrlok holds her here enables Amon and the anti-bending revolution to make more and more progress in the United Republic. It’s time for her to act.

She had grown up knowing - again, on an abstract level - that the Avatar had to sacrifice certain things in their life in order to adequately fulfill their duties; that it wasn’t all wealth and glory and prestige. Avatars didn’t have the luxury of acting as they pleased; they had to do what was best for the world, even if it put them in situations they really didn’t want to be in. Avatar Rei’s story had proved that. Still, Korra had never expected _this._

She loses her train of thought when Tarrlok stands up, coming to join her. From her position sitting on the counter, she’s at eye level with him for once, and before she can do or say anything, he reaches out, cupping the side of her face in his hand. “Are you happy?” he asks quietly, careful not to wake Sitka.

The question takes Korra by surprise. It, and the look on his face, is raw and unguarded, not smug or flirtatious for once. It couldn’t be more obvious what the correct answer has to be, and she nods. “Of course I am.”

Tarrlok kisses her before the last word is even fully out of her mouth. There’s something almost desperate in it, as he holds her so close that she can feel his heartbeat in her own chest. Korra spares a moment to wonder what exactly he had been thinking about while petting Sitka, before fisting a hand in his long ponytail and pulling him toward her, the changed angle helping both of them deepen the kiss.

Normally, this leaves no time or energy for any deep thought, but tonight, the realization that it’s probably not going to end here distracts her, the thought chasing itself in restless circles around her brain. But then Tarrlok pulls away, and presses a kiss to her cheek. Her jawbone. Her neck.

He hesitates, then. They’re close enough that Korra can feel it, along with the way his hands tense up on her body, near the hidden zipper on the side of her dress. 

She twines her fingers through his hair, anchoring them so they can’t tremble, and tugs him back to her for another long, heated kiss. “Don’t stop,” she breathes, when they pull apart, their noses brushing together. Her voice doesn’t sound like her own, and she’s afraid that Tarrlok is going to see through her for sure, because she probably looks as on-the-verge-of-puking nervous as she feels all of a sudden—

He doesn’t seem to see anything unusual, though; he just looks at her a little uncertainly, before resting a hand on her leg. “Are you sure?”

So he is, actually, determined to make this as hard on her as possible. Korra nods wordlessly, resolutely, and before she can think of anything to possibly say, Tarrlok lifts her off the counter and into his arms, supporting her with one arm underneath her knees and one behind her back, and even through her anxiousness, she rolls her eyes. “This is completely unnecessary,” she points out, trying in vain to kick his leg as he walks her over to their bedroom. 

Tarrlok looks down and gives her a small smile. “It’s traditional, after all.”

"I don’t care, I can walk myself." She pokes a finger into his chest. Actually, now that she thinks about it, maybe it is better that he hadn’t given her the chance. Getting her legs to cooperate, and not run in the opposite direction, would have been difficult. "I could probably even pick _you_ up, actually.”

He laughs, setting her feet down on the floor. “Next time, then.”

Korra is stuck on _next time_ when he kisses her again, twining his fingers in her hair. They quickly make their way back to where they left off, and Tarrlok’s grip on the side of her head is gentle, as he tilts her head back a little, exposing her neck and throat to him. He places a kiss to the soft, sensitive spot underneath her ear, before slowly tracing a path down the side of her neck with his lips and teeth. It tickles, and Korra digs her fingers into his shoulders, leaning her entire body into him and closing her eyes, trying to calm herself. She wishes he would kiss her properly again, because at least then, it gives her something to _do—_

Tarrlok draws back mid-kiss, his teeth scraping lightly against the nerves in her neck; looking at her through darkened eyes, pupils dilated. He cups the side of her face in one hand, brushing his fingers over her skin, pressing the pad of his thumb against her bottom lip. “It’s all right,” he says quietly, trying to be soothing; reassuring. “You don’t have to be nervous. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

Korra’s first instinct is defensiveness, to deny it, but then she realizes that there is no point lying to a bloodbender who had just been nuzzling up against her pulse point, in a prime position to feel her heart racing like a frightened cat-rabbit. She tries to shrug and laugh, to pass it off as nothing, but it comes out sounding all wrong. “I’m fine,” she replies hastily, taking his hand in hers and giving it a light squeeze. “It’s just…well, you know how it is.”

Judging from the ever so slightly puzzled look on Tarrlok’s face, he _doesn’t_ know how it is, having never been a seventeen-year-old girl held hostage and forced to play nice with her captor and lose her virginity to him as part of her only hope of gaining freedom. He leans close, rubbing his nose against hers in a Water Tribe kiss in an attempt to set her at ease. “We don’t have to do this tonight,” he tells her, his voice low. “If it would help you to wait…”

Korra is tempted beyond all reason to desperately grab for the lifeline, but she forces herself to keep silent. If it’s not tonight, it’s going to be another night, maybe two weeks from now, or four. It’s best to just get it over with, because it’s not going to get any easier even with the passage of some time. All waiting will accomplish is delaying their return to Republic City. Anyway, maybe Tarrlok had been right - she doesn’t think that he would try to make it unpleasant or painful for her. She shakes her head, looking up at him. “I want to,” she says forcefully. Maybe if she says it enough, she’ll start to believe it. 

Tarrlok kisses her briefly, chastely, on the lips, rubbing his thumbs across the tense lines of her shoulders. “Maybe you should take a few minutes for yourself, then,” he suggests, glancing toward the bathroom. “A hot bath might help you relax.”

"Thank you." Korra stands on the tips of her toes, kissing him on the cheek, and despite everything, she’s grateful for his patience. As hard as this is, it could have been somuch worse. She tries to make as graceful of an exit as she can, and not dash outright for the safety of the bathroom. She shuts and locks the door behind her, leaning against it, and sinks to the floor in a boneless heap, burying her aching head in her hands. 

It’s all she can do not to cry. Her eyes sting with the effort of holding in the tears, and her throat is tight and raw and closed over. It’s not that she’s afraid of Tarrlok, per say, or that the thought of having sex with him is repulsive. Not at all. She _is_ physically attracted to him, but the issue is that this is all just - these circumstances are so - _not_ what she had ever expected, for her first time, for _any_ time, and the thing is, she doesn’t feel emotionally ready or prepared for what she’s about to do, but there’s no real choice— 

She closes her eyes tighter, and thinks of her family, and Republic City, the people who need her. She thinks of Master Katara, Fire Lady Mai, the Kyoshi Warrior Suki, and all the strong, courageous women she had grown up hearing about, who had always done what needed to be done, no matter what. 

Korra pulls herself up from the floor and leans close to the mirror, using a combination of healing and waterbending to flush any sign of redness from her eyes and draw out the excess tears. She dry heaves a few times out of sheer nerves, silently, clutching the towel rack for support, but manages to regain her composure relatively quickly. 

She turns her back to the mirror, taking a few deep breaths, and closes her eyes, thinking back to her experimentation of several days ago; trying to block out all other emotions and sensations besides the purely physical. She relives the fantasy down to the last minute detail until her body begins to react physically, to the point where she’s more or less distracted from the hopeless tangle of emotions surging inside her.

Korra undoes her loose braids and strips off all her clothes with slightly shaking hands, until she’s naked and covered with goosebumps. Instead of getting into the bath - if she got into the water, she would never want to get out - she takes one of Tarrlok’s white work shirts off the clothes rack and slips into it, clumsily fastening the vertical row of dark clasps. It’s loose and hangs down past the middle of her thighs, and it smells distractingly like him. The fabric feels stiff and cool and unfamiliar against her bare breasts, quite unlike the soft fur of the anorak she wears to sleep at night.

She cracks the door open, noting that the room is empty, and pads over to the bed, somewhat awkwardly taking a seat in the middle of it. Korra presses her hand into the furs, watching the imprint her hand leaves in the polar leopard pelt. Each spot is different from the others around it. She’s lost in contemplation of it, and memories of seeing leopards out in the arctic tundra while riding Naga, when Tarrlok finally comes back. He stops in the doorway for a second, taking her in. “You look beautiful,” he tells her softly, genuinely.

"Thanks, you too," Korra replies automatically, and then she winces. Tarrlok smirks as he walks over to join her, and she eyes the glass he holds in his hand curiously. It’s full of some clear, sweet-smelling amber liquid, and he offers it to her.

"It’s champagne," he says, in response to her unasked question. "I don’t know if you want to try it, but I thought it might help take the edge off your nerves. You should sip it slowly, because you’ve never had alcohol before—"

Korra stops listening to any words after _take the edge off your nerves._ She tosses her head back and downs the entire glass in two gulps. It seems to fill her nose and throat with bubbles, and she giggles and coughs at the same time, utterly taken aback by the novel sensation. Tarrlok watches her, apparently caught between shock and amusement, as he confiscates the glass from her grip and sets it on the bedside table. “Well,” he says dryly. “That’s one way to do it, I suppose.”

He sits down behind her, wrapping his arms around her and gently tugging her back against his chest, before kissing her hair and smoothing his fingers through it, petting her like she had been petting Sikta earlier. It’s oddly relaxing, and Korra feels a little bit of the tension leaving her muscles, even when Tarrlok leans down and brushes a kiss against the shell of her ear, and then moves her hair over one shoulder, kissing the back of her neck, and then the side again. She preoccupies herself by tracing her fingers over his hands, feeling their warmth through her shirt, and then lifting one of his hands and absentmindedly kissing the inside of his wrist, right at the pulse point. 

Tarrlok leans over and kisses her on the lips then, and Korra twists around in his arms to make it easier. The kiss is so deep and passionate that it leaves her lightheaded and dizzy - or maybe that’s the champagne - and she’s almost distracted from the way his arms are brushing her chest, leaving her unsure of whether to arch into the touch or push it away. 

"May I?" he asks a little hoarsely, when they finally pull apart, his fingers on the first clasp of her shirt.

Korra shakes her head, nudging his hands away. “I’ll do it.”

With her back still to him, she undoes each clasp - her hands are wet with sweat, how disgusting - before shrugging out of the shirt in one jerky movement. She feels uncomfortably bare and exposed, and she unconsciously folds her arms over her chest, drawing her knees close to her body, but at least he hasn’t turned her around yet. 

For a few moments, both of them are completely still. When Tarrlok touches her, tentatively, the backs of his fingers and nothing else against the top of her spine, Korra almost jumps, her entire body stiffening up. “It’s okay,” he reassures her, pulling his hand back. “I promise.”

Tarrlok waits until she nods to touch her again, tracing a path from the top of her spine to the bottom, and even though it’s just light, fleeting contact, it makes Korra shiver and tingle all over. He places his hands on her shoulders and caresses her shoulder blades until all the breath leaves her body in a long sigh. His hands feel good, actually, just like she had imagined. They’re warm and not too calloused and gentle, as they skim over her back, down her arms, and over her knees and legs, and she closes her eyes, trying again to relax. When he brushes against her sides, though, she elbows him in the ribs on instinct. Tarrlok gasps, surprised, and Korra pushes his hands away. “I’m ticklish,” she protests, briefly distracted from everything else that is going on; from the context of the situation. “Don’t.”

Tarrlok laughs unexpectedly, wrapping his arms around her waist in a hug and murmuring an apology into her ear. She realizes belatedly what he was doing, that he was trying to get her used to all of this, and Korra nestles against his chest, overwhelmed. She wants her mind to like it and embrace it as much as her body does, and the alcohol hadn’t helped with that as much as she thought it would. He kisses and nibbles on her shoulder until she squirms, pressing her legs more tightly together and trying to ignore the anticipation knotting up her stomach, before taking one of his hands and holding it in a white-knuckled grip. 

Tarrlok gives a tiny hiss of pain, but when he speaks, his voice is low and amused and it does things to her that a stupid _voice_ shouldn’t, making her fidget against the bed again. “Now, what are you going to do with that, Korra, darling?”

"Shut up," Korra replies, without much venom, taking his hand and cautiously brushing the knuckles against the sensitive skin on the side of her breast. Her body reacts immediately, and Tarrlok muffles a groan in her hair. They take a few deep breaths, hearts pounding in unison, before she tries again, taking his other hand as well, and making him touch her more fully this time. She moans, the breath catches in his throat, and she digs her fingers into the fur pelt beneath them, holding it in a painfully tight grasp. It’s not that it doesn’t feel good - entirely the opposite, actually. It’s just that it’s too intimate; that it feels like he’s holding her heart in his hands. As hard as she tries, she still can’t forget how he had bloodbended her that one time, sabotaging her escape attempt and forcing her to return. How he had slid underneath her skin and made her hurt. 

"No more," Korra says, her voice ragged, and then she forces herself to qualify. "…Of that, I mean. For now."

Tarrlok’s breath is similarly uneven, as he slides his hands from her chest to her hips, and nips at the side of her neck. “Tell me what you want, then, sweetheart,” he says quietly, against her skin. “I just want you to enjoy this.”

His words make her head hurt all over again, because they’re so genuine, and how could he want to please her and make her happy, and yet insist on holding her captive? It doesn’t make sense. Korra throws her arms around him and kisses him on the lips desperately, trying to pour out her confusion. All of this is wearing on her nerves in a good way and an uncomfortable way all at the same time, and she just wants to stop taking it slow, for it to be over with; for this to be like any other night when they just cuddled up against each other to go to sleep, and she always knew and understood what she was feeling. That was good and comfortable and okay, and this is just a huge mess.

She almost wishes that he wouldn’t be this tender with her. Maybe that would make it easier. She runs her fingers through Tarrlok’s hair and grips his ponytail hard, pressing herself up against him, biting his lower lip, and he kisses her back with equal passion. She trails bites and kisses down his ears and neck and collarbone, taking satisfaction in the way he melts beneath her hands and lips. _Zone three,_ Korra thinks to herself, over and over again, to soothe herself. _I’m winning this game._

She accidentally rips his shirt in her haste to get it off him, and Tarrlok looks down at it sadly. “I’ll try and mend it?” she suggests, genuinely distracted by running her hands over his muscled chest and upper arms. 

Tarrlok smirks, tossing it to the floor. “In that case, it’s better off dead.”

Korra pouts, and he twines his fingers in her hair, drawing her back to him. In what seems like no time at all, she’s on her back, and he’s kissing down her body and touching her in a way that leaves no room for thought, unconsciously reenacting every part of the way she had imagined this. She wraps her arms around Tarrlok’s shoulders, half of his dark hair spilling out of his ponytail and onto both of them, tickling her skin, and when she had thought about this for the very first time, she had been afraid that she would have to think of someone else - Howl, Mako, even Tahno - in order to make it all right. 

That’s not really the case, now. It’s easier to think of _herself_ as somebody else; to try and pretend that she’s really just Senna of the Northern Water Tribe, who had fallen in love with a handsome scholar who studied rocks. Senna had happily married Taruq and would have probably looked forward to this night for their entire engagement. She would have no reason to be uncomfortable with everything that’s happening. She would love it. 

Tarrlok finally pulls back, caressing her flushed cheek, and she leans her head into his touch, jolted out of her fantasy. “Are you all right?” he asks softly.

"I’m fine," Korra replies shakily. Her throat feels tight again, and she fervently wishes for more of that champagne. As hard as she tries, she can’t manage to find her previous train of thought. "Just a little nervous."

He kisses her forehead, her nose, and then her lips. “It might hurt at first,” he warns. “But I’ll try to make you comfortable as soon as I can.”

Korra puts her brave face on, tugging on the ends of his hair. “Go for it, tigerbear.”

Tarrlok goes for it. She punches him in the shoulder out of sheer panic. 

It takes him a little while to calm her down, and even then, it’s not perfect; nothing at all like what she had read in books. The sense of unbelievable closeness, of being tangled so intimately together, makes Korra feel like she’s being suffocated and very nearly drives her to the edge of a panic attack. She has to discreetly meditate right then and there to avoid a total breakdown. She tries to convince Tarrlok to use bloodbending to get rid of the discomfort and make it easier for her. He looks appalled, tells her that he doesn’t think that those two things are supposed to go together, and tries to distract her with kissing.

Eventually, though, he finds an angle that makes it feel infinitely better, just like it had when he’d used his hands to bring her almost to the edge not too long ago. It drives all coherent thought out of her already overwrought mind, until she can do little more than close her eyes, rake her fingernails down his back, and gasp his name.

Korra comes harder for him than she ever had on her own, and she’s not sure how she feels about that, even as it’s happening. Tarrlok follows suit, curling up around her protectively as she comes down from the high, and pressing kisses to her face. She grips his upper arms tightly, screwing her eyes shut, and a few moments later, she feels him awkwardly but gently wiping away the tears she has no power to stop. Just the feeling of his hands on her again makes her eyes sting even more. She’s never felt as vulnerable as she does right now, and it kills her. She hadn’t expected this either. 

"That was amazing," she says unsteadily, her voice cracking.

Tarrlok looks at her warily. “You’re crying, Korra.”

"I’m just a little overwhelmed." She leans close; kissing him on the lips briefly, and then bites the inside of her cheek until the pain distracts her from the urge to sob. "It’s…kind of a big deal, you know."

The expression on his face softens a little as he pulls her closer. “I suppose it is.”

She’s not sure if she wants him to hold her, or if she needs some space. She has the feeling that she will be equally uncomfortable with both. Korra reaches out to him, and Tarrlok pulls her into a secure embrace, stroking her hair like he had done earlier, and kissing her brow until she melts against him.

She falls asleep to him telling her an old Water Tribe story about two lovers, and the last thing that she registers before everything fades to black is the soft kiss he presses to her cheek.

-

_to be continued_

-

A quick note for this chapter, about Korra and Tarrlok’s first time together: planning this scene caused me a headache. I really want to clarify that Tarrlok had no idea that Korra’s consent wasn’t wholehearted, and he didn’t know of the depth of her mixed feelings, either. 

Regarding Korra’s emotions and the issue of dubious consent - even though Korra likes Tarrlok as a friend, and might have deeper feelings for him (which will be explored in more depth next chapter), even though she’s physically attracted to him and she enjoyed the experience on a physical level, it is still a really shades-of-gray area. He kidnapped her - took her far away from everything and everybody she knew - and used bloodbending on her to force her to stay, and despite all the kindness he has shown her afterwards, she can’t forget that. But Korra felt pressured into doing something she wasn’t mentally or emotionally ready for at all. Not pressured by Tarrlok, necessarily, but by the circumstances. She was _desperate_ to do whatever it took to get back to Republic City and try and protect her predecessor Aang’s legacy. And she was also at least half-drunk, which compounded and confused her feelings even more. 

With this whole situation, even though Tarrlok loves Korra and she might have feelings for him, I couldn’t make it all fluffy bunnies and sunshine. There is a very sketchy power dynamic here, and there is deliberate and unconscious emotional manipulation on both their parts. This is a seriously fucked up situation for Korra to be in, and I thought it would be irresponsible of me to neglect to address those things, even though I love happy fluffy Korrlok as much as everybody else. 

 


	7. Part Seven

**Note:** This story was outlined and begun before Episode 1x11 of Korra aired. As a result, Tarrlok’s background differs from how it was described in canon. This interpretation is basically how I think the situation might have played out if the show had been directed at mature audiences. 

-

Korra wakes up to Tarrlok brushing the hair out of her face, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, and telling her something about making tea. 

 

He slips out of bed and draws the furs over her, leaving her comfortable and warm but alone, and she drifts back to sleep after a few minutes, still emotionally and physically exhausted beyond belief. When she wakes again, it’s a little bit later, and weak rays of sunshine spill in through a gap in the curtains. Korra turns over, from her side to her back, wincing at the change in position and what it does to her sore muscles; muscles she didn’t even know she had until now. She just stares at the ceiling for a while, before awkwardly dragging herself up into a sitting position and leaning back against the pillows, wrapping one of the furs around her and trying to make sense of what she’s feeling.

She feels changed and different in a way she can’t find words for, even within the privacy of her own mind, but thankfully, the overwhelming, raw emotion of last night has been mostly replaced by calm. She reaches toward the tall glass of cool water at her bedside, obviously intended to hydrate her and ward off her lightheadedness, dizziness, and dry throat. Tarrlok hadn’t been kidding when he had suggested that she drink that champagne slowly. That’s a mistake she won’t make again.

Korra closes her tired eyes for a few moments at the thought of him, unprepared for what it does to her. All of it makes her think back to the first embarrassing conversation she’d had with her mom about sex, a year ago. _I waited until my wedding night,_ Senna had told her over a cup of tea, while Korra had fought the urge to clap her hands over her ears and slide down to hide under the kitchen table out of sheer mortification, _but that’s an individual choice to make, and you may not choose the same. That’s okay._

_Yes, mom,_ she had mumbled grudgingly, shooting longing looks at the door, fervently hoping for escape. Her mother just rested a hand on her own.

_I only want you to keep one thing in mind, sweetie, and you’ll understand the reasons for this when you’re a little more mature. I would like for your first time to be with someone who’s serious about you, who respects you, your boundaries, and your feelings - somebody who you know will take care of you emotionally as well as physically._

Korra bites her lip to stifle an inappropriate burst of laughter. Somebody who’s serious about her - sure, serious enough to want to keep her with him until they’re both old and gray, except the specific circumstances of and reasoning behind this _keeping_ are probably not what her mom had in mind.

On all other counts, though… She bites her lip again, this time in thought. In all honesty, she can’t really deny Tarrlok any of that. And as much as it surprises her, she feels a strange lack of resentment toward him. He hadn’t forced her into what she had done last night, after all. It had been her choice, and she has the uncomfortable feeling that if he actually knew that her consent hadn’t been wholehearted, it would hurt him terribly. He would have stopped if he had any idea of how mixed her feelings actually were; she’s sure of that much. He had tried his best to make sure that she felt safe and loved, and she can’t _not_ appreciate that.

Korra curls her hands around the almost-empty glass of water, deep in thought, when she’s interrupted by a happy bark. Sitka trots into the room, wagging her tail excitedly, closely followed by Tarrlok, all dressed for the day in the dark blue Water Tribe clothing she likes most, and holding two cups of steaming, slightly odd-smelling tea. She smiles at both of them, leaning down to pet Sitka, and Tarrlok touches her cheek gently. “How are you feeling?”

"Better, thanks." She blushes a little at the memory of how worried and uncomfortable he had been when she had started crying last night, and then pats the bed. "You can sit."

He does, before offering her the cup of tea. Korra takes it gratefully, because as unusual as it smells - it’s certainly not the sweet jasmine tea she likes, or the green tea he does - it’s hot, and it should help get rid of this awful headache. She takes a large gulp, and then her eyes widen with panic, and she narrowly manages to avoid spitting it out. She flails, disgusted, slamming the cup down on the bedside table with such force that the whole table shudders. “What _is_ that?” she exclaims, looking toward the bathroom wildly, where her toothbrush is. She needs to scrub this hideous taste out of her mouth more than she needs _air._ "Why did you give that to me - are you trying to kill me - this is _bad form,_ Tarrlok - stop laughing,” she adds irritably, noting the look on his face. 

"I’m sorry," he says, trying to stop himself. "I didn’t realize that you would find it this vile. Don’t worry, though, you’ll get used to the taste after some time."

Korra eyes the tea distrustfully. Tarrlok is drinking his, with only the occasional grimace at the bitterness. “I’m never going to touch it again.”

He smirks, pressing her cup back into her reluctant grip. “Yes, you are - it’s fennel tea. Contraceptive,” he explains, upon seeing the blank look in her eyes.

"Oh," Korra says mournfully, looking into the depths of the murky liquid. " _Oh._ My mom taught me how to brew it, but she never told me it would be this gross.” 

Tarrlok finishes his tea and sets the empty cup on the table. Sitka stretches up to sniff it, and then sneezes. “Like I said, you get used to it. We’ll both have to drink one cup every other day, first thing in the morning.”

Korra takes a small sip, pulling a face and stifling the urge to gag. As awful as it is, she’ll have to find a way to choke it down somehow. The last thing she needs is to risk getting pregnant. It would throw all of her plans into total disarray and upend her life completely. “So,” she says, just to distract herself from the sheer disgusting-ness of what she’s drinking, while looking at him curiously. It’s something that she’s wondered about for a long time, since the day that she had actually figured out that he apparently had some kind of feelings for her, but the opportunity to discuss it never really came up. “How long have you wanted to do this?”

"Bring you tea?" Tarrlok asks, his tone a little too casual. "Well, I believe I brought you tea a few days ago. I wanted to give you some yesterday, but you refused to drink any because we were out of your favorite."

Korra rolls her eyes, kicking him in the leg. “You know what I’m talking about.”

He looks flustered all of a sudden, and sitting in the light as he is, she can easily see the blush that spreads across his face. “Are you finished with that cup yet? I should take these back to the kitchen and wash them - I don’t want it to stain, it’s bone china, after all—”

Korra snatches her half-full cup away from the grab he makes for it, and as odd and twisted is this situation is, she still can’t help but grin. “Oh, no, sweetie. First, you’re going to tell me how long you’ve had this little crush.”

"It’s not a crush," he snaps, wounded, "and - long enough that I don’t want to talk about it."

She tries pouting at him, although it seems to have no effect. “Before coming here,” she suggests, “or after?”

She had expected to hear him say _after_ \- that, as a result of spending this much time together, and sharing the kind of bonding that only came as a result of living together, she had grown on him, like fungus on a piece of food, and he had involuntarily grown fond of her, all while trying to break her resistance. That seems like the only logical response. Instead, Tarrlok fidgets with the fur trim of his sleeve and plucks off a few long white dog hairs that are clinging to the dark fabric. “Before,” he mumbles resentfully.

Korra almost chokes on her tea. “What?” Her mind spins, as she forces it to go back to all of the interactions they’d shared in Republic City and catalogue them, trying to catch any sign of it. What she remembers with most clarity is their power struggle and the clashes that had led up to the explosive fight in City Hall. Tarrlok sniping at her, trying to intimidate her, pressuring her to rejoin his task force and ordering her to get out of his way if she wouldn’t, calling her a half-baked Avatar…it just seems so incomprehensible that there had been anything there except frustration and anger. She truly had no idea, and now, she prods his leg with her foot, confused. “Since when?”

Tarrlok remains stubbornly silent, staring at her tea as if attempting to restrain himself from using waterbending to force the rest of it down her throat in one gulp, so he can reclaim his precious cups and flee to the safety of the kitchen. 

"Was it the task force?" Korra asks slowly, trying to put the pieces together. "Is that why you were so upset when I left? Or was it that party you threw me? You did ask me to dance—"

"I was upset when you left the task force because you were neglecting your duty and responsibilities as the Avatar in order to engage in a trivial, irrelevant leisure pursuit, in a time when the city needed you most," he corrects sharply, all the breath leaving his body in a long sigh. "And I asked you to dance at the gala because you were the guest of honor, and it was only polite - that is, if you call what you were doing _dancing_ in the first place. My feet have never been the same since that night.” 

"Oh," she says, with excessive sympathy. "Poor baby." She finishes the tea at last, setting it down on the table, but Tarrlok doesn’t show any sign of making his escape.

He leans down to pet Sitka, his hair falling over his face, shielding it from view. “In all honesty, though,” he admits. “There might have been other factors at play.” He hesitates for a few moments. “You have to understand - all of this has been rather disturbing for me. The last time I was attracted to a girl of your age, I was in university. You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that you were older, if only by seven or eight years.” 

"I’m seventeen as it is," Korra replies dryly. "Almost eighteen. Not seven."

"I know you’re of marriageable age by Water Tribe standards, but I’ve lived in Republic City for long enough that my views of the norms of such things had shifted. And then came you." Tarrlok sounds mildly bewildered. "I had read all about your misadventures on your first day here in the newspapers - riding a massive polar bear-dog through the streets, causing a large number of traffic accidents, apprehending three members of the Triple Threats singlehandedly, leading the police on a wild chase, and destroying a good portion of an entire district. I admired your bravery, all other things aside. I thought your aggressive approach was exactly what the city needed. It was so much in line with my own ideals, and as soon as you made your first press conference, I knew you would be a valuable ally. My interest was mostly professional, then, until—"

"Yes?" she prompts.

"…Dinner on Air Temple Island. Your presence was - different - in person."

Korra tries, but can’t hold back her wolf-like grin. “My presence, huh? My aura of power and confidence?”

Tarrlok clears his throat, straightening the fur trim on his shirt again. “You could say that, yes.”

"No." She points at him, narrowing her eyes triumphantly. "Part of it was the tank top, wasn’t it?"

It takes a few moments for her words to register, and then Tarrlok looks like he would rather have a sinkhole open up beneath them and swallow him into the depths of the ground forever than continue this conversation. His complexion apparently can’t decide whether to turn bright red or go completely pale. She couldn’t have asked for better confirmation, and Korra folds her arms over her chest, shaking her head disbelievingly. “My stupid etiquette teacher back in the compound was always warning me about this kind of thing, telling me to wear looser clothes and blah blah blah. What did _she_ know, anyway? Besides, even if I wrap myself in a mile of fur, I still can’t cover up these things.”

"All right," Tarrlok says - squeaks? "Well, now you know."

"Yes," Korra agrees, satisfied. She can put it together now in a logical manner, and now that she thinks about it, the lavish gifts that he had almost drowned her with during the task force recruitment period had been awfully similar to the courtship gifts he had given her here. But as soon as she had gone rogue, so to speak, and had refused to fall in line with the plans he had for her, everything had changed, and become dark and twisted. "Now I know." She tilts her head, looking at him curiously. "But I have another question."

"You may as well ask it," he replies, clearly feeling that nothing in the world could be more uncomfortable than what had just transpired.

Korra gestures around the room, and at the both of them. “Considering everything…is…is all of this what you had in mind all along, when you came up with your new plan to take me along with you when you escaped Republic City?” she asks uncertainly. 

Tarrlok blinks at her, the question taking him by surprise. “No,” he says, after a while. “At that time, after everything that happened, I wasn’t feeling anything for you besides anger and bitterness and resentment. Trust me, there were times that I was furious enough that I might have pushed you into the water while we were on the ship. I spent days wishing that you had never managed to get away from your miserable little compound in the South Pole.”

"Yeah, I kind of got that impression."

Tarrlok smiles briefly, faintly. “And I wasn’t thinking straight, in any case. I just knew that you would be the perfect hostage, the most valuable bargaining piece that I could possibly get my hands on. If they ever tracked me down, all I had to do was threaten to kill you or seriously hurt you, and they would let me go. You’re the Avatar, and nobody would ever risk your life or well-being.”

Korra watches him, taking all of it in with surprising, detached composure, considering what they’re discussing. She touches his hand, intertwining their fingers together. “You wouldn’t do that to me,” she says calmly. “Even before all of this.”

Tarrlok cups the side of her face in his hand, brushing his thumb against the sensitive skin underneath her eye in a light caress. “No,” he agrees. “I would never. But they don’t know that.” He smirks bitterly. “I am Yakone’s son, after all.”

-

Later that afternoon, after a long game of Pai Sho - which Korra loses, as usual, but doesn’t lose _spectacularly,_ which indicates slight improvement - Tarrlok walks up to her, where she’s lounging on the sofa, scribbling out some ideas for the amateur submission radio script that she, Emi, and Roumei are working on. 

"Do you think it would be too cliche to have the mayor be the one who’s secretly behind the drug smuggling ring?" Korra asks, tapping her pen on her chin, as he sits down beside her. "Emi thinks that it should be somebody completely random and out of left field, but I don’t think that packs as much of a punch."

"Maybe it could be another journalist who works in the same office," Tarrlok suggests. "Somebody that your protagonist knows and trusts, to give the betrayal some more shock value."

"That’s a good idea." Korra notes it down briefly, but before she can continue, he rests a hand on her foot.

"Can I talk to you for a few minutes?"

Korra looks up at him, and then flinches at the expression on his face, instantly knowing what’s coming. “I don’t want to have this conversation,” she protests, feeling her face begin to heat up.

"Korra—"

"No." She squirms, not even caring that it’s immature. "Why does everybody want to have some kind of embarrassing sex talk with me? My mom, Master Katara, Pema and Tenzin. Tenzin, for the spirits’ sake! I am not talking about this with you too." 

"We need to have this discussion. Good, open communication is a key part of healthy adult relationships."

Korra glares at him resentfully, choosing not to mention that very little about this situation could be considered _healthy_. “You are such a priss.”

Tarrlok sighs, rubbing her foot gently. “I’ll make it quick and painless, I promise.”

"Okay," she mumbles, pulling her foot away. "Go."

Tarrlok looks almost as uncomfortable as she feels, but he clears his throat and assumes his politician voice, obviously determined to get his point across. “I want you to know that just because you expressed consent last night doesn’t mean that you should feel pressured to do so at any time after this. I suppose you could say that it’s not - it’s not a blanket thing. If you’re ever not in the mood, just tell me. I’ll understand.” 

Korra opens her mouth and then closes it, unsure of what to say, and her chest aches as she thinks back to the previous night. For lack of a better response, she edges over and hugs him tightly, not wanting to risk speaking in case her voice cracks. He’s trying to make this easier for her, and in doing so, he’s only making it harder.

No time after their first time is as painful, physically and emotionally, as that night had been. The strain that she feels afterward is of an entirely different nature, and sometimes Korra thinks it’s just as bad. She alternates between cycles of feeling intensely guilty for coming to enjoy it on a physical _and_ emotional level and wondering if there’s something wrong with her, and then rationalizations about why she shouldn’t feel bad, and that it’s only natural to like it. With the exception of Bolin, Tarrlok is the only person who has ever showed any romantic interest in her, and Korra can’t help but respond to that. Everything that had happened with Mako and Asami, when he had decided that Asami was better for him, had shaken and damaged her self-confidence badly, as much as she still hates to admit it. She can’t count the number of times she had thought - if she had paid more attention to her appearance and been prettier and more feminine, less brash and loud and rambunctious, more poised and elegant and sweet, he would have chosen her instead. 

And then came Tarrlok, who appreciates her just as she is. Who tells her that she’s beautiful and clever and brave, that he enjoys her personality, and that she is unlike anybody he’s ever met before and that she’s the best company he’s had in years, and Korra can’t help but respond to all of it. She’d thought she had prepared herself for the fact that there were going to be changes in the dynamics of their relationship in the aftermath of what had happened, but it takes her less than two weeks to discover that is not actually the case. The physical intimacy is nowhere near as challenging to deal with as the emotional aspect of it. Korra tries to separate the two, to compartmentalize, but it’s too difficult. It’s too…bonding, for lack of a better word, and it brings them too close, in a way that she had never expected. By night, when they’re curled up close to one another, her head resting on his bare chest, right over his heart, his arms around her and their fingers tangled together as they look out the window to the stars in the night sky, she can’t bring herself to mind. By day, she’s struck with horror at the fact that she didn’t, and so the cycle repeats again. 

Korra brushes her hair out absentmindedly, deep in thought, before reaching for her old hair ties. She secures her hair in the three ponytails out of habit, and when she notices the way Tarrlok’s gaze flickers over to her, lingering on the style, she places a hand in her back ponytail somewhat defensively. “Since we aren’t going out anywhere today, I thought this would be fine.” 

He shakes his head, setting aside Sitka’s brush and giving the poor dog a brief reprieve from her daily morning grooming session, before rising to join her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “It is.” He hesitates for a few seconds, reaching out and gently wrapping his fingers around the ponytail. “I’ve always liked this hairstyle on you. I’ve actually missed seeing it.”

Korra blinks, surprised, tilting her head back to look up at him. “Really? It’s kind of a man’s style, I guess, and I thought you liked my braids.”

Tarrlok smirks faintly, taking a seat next to her. “I do like your braids, and anything you do with your hair. It’s just that this…” - he pauses briefly, apparently lost in thought as he brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and his expression changes a little - “You could say it has a little bit of sentimental value.”

"What kind of sentimental value?" she asks curiously. 

He blinks at her, looking rather far away for a few moments, before regaining his typical cool composure. “It just reminds me of somebody that I used to know, that’s all.”

Korra leans away, making a face and waving her arms, trying to stop him. “Ugh, please don’t tell me it was an ex-girlfriend. That’s one way to make this weird situation even weirder—”

Tarrlok laughs, wrapping an arm around her; pulling her close and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, ignoring her pout. “Jealous, are we?” 

She scowls at his smug tone, digging her elbow into his ribs and wriggling away. “I am _not_.”

The look he gives her makes it clear that he doesn’t believe it at all, and he rests his hand on the small of her back, rubbing it comfortingly. “You don’t have anything to be jealous about,” he says, after a while, looking down at the floor. “I’ve had a few serious, long-term relationships, but none of them worked out, obviously.”

"Obviously. Yeah, I don’t think this whole situation would have flew if you had a wife and kids back home."

The corner of Tarrlok’s mouth quirks up a little in reluctant amusement. “It’s hard to sustain a relationship to that point when there are so many secrets and lies,” he admits, in a rare moment of complete honesty. “There was always something or another - a whole fictional history that I had to keep straight. Where I was from, whether I had siblings, who my mother and father were and what they did. Why they weren’t around anymore; when and how they died. Why I didn’t want children.” He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant about all of it and failing, and Korra can’t bring herself to look away, morbidly fascinated despite herself. “I was always involved with intelligent, well-informed women, and I was always afraid that I would slip up and reveal some small detail, and somebody would discover the truth - and I would lose everything. In the end, in some way or another, that was always what drove us apart.” 

He stops, glancing at his hands, and Korra clears her throat a little awkwardly, unsure of what to say. She can’t even begin to imagine what having to lie like that must have been like. “That’s rough,” she replies, before wincing at her own lameness.

Tarrlok looks back at her, the expression on his face unreadable. “It was.”

They sit in silence for a little while, Korra uncomfortably fidgeting with the ivory comb on the dresser, before he reaches out and touches her hand with surprising tentativeness. “I don’t have that problem with you, though,” he says quietly. “You know almost everything about me, for better or for worse.”

Just to avoid having to say anything, she leans close and kisses him on the cheek, noting the _almost._ Tarrlok gives her a small smile, before getting up and calling Sitka to him to finish her grooming session. They leave the room, and Korra is all too conscious of the warm, affectionate look he gives her on the way out. His utter contentment at this situation couldn’t be more obvious, and she sets the comb back in the drawer, her insides curling up with discomfort.

-

"All hail Sitka, the fantastic first-ever dog psychic waterbender!"

Sitka howls at the moon happily, and Korra takes the opportunity to waterbend a massive spiral torrent of seawater from behind her, creating the illusion that the dog is waterbending with her mouth. The water crashes into Tarrlok, making his back collide roughly with the hard rock cliffside, and Korra and Sitka prance toward him, splashing water everywhere. He raises an eyebrow, choosing not to retaliate and trying to hide his amusement, while Korra grins, hugging their dog in triumph. “And after three rounds of intense competition, the reigning champion Tarrlok is utterly _decimated_ by Team Incredible, never to rise again from the ashes of his shame and humiliation!”

"You should be a pro-bending commentator," he replies dryly. "You certainly have a flair for the dramatic. I suppose there would be no point in saying that I chose to surrender, and was not actually defeated in combat?"

Korra beams, before sweeping him up in her arms and carrying him toward the coast, Sitka trotting ahead of them. “Nope. None at all.”

Tarrlok sighs, resting his head against her upper arm and looking up at the sky. He has mostly given up on trying to find a reasonable explanation as to how one petite girl can be as strong as she is. “Korra, really. This is most undignified.”

"Don’t care." She drops him unceremoniously into the sand. "Hey, and you know what else is undignified?"

Before he can even respond, she presses a hand against his chest, pushing him none-too-gently to the ground and giving him a kiss that it as wet and salty as it is thorough. When Korra finally pulls back, letting him sit up and catch his breath, she grabs a handful of sand and dumps it down the front of his shirt, smirking with self-satisfaction at the mortified look on his face. “ _That_ is also undignified, by the way. Just so you know.”

Tarrlok glares, bending the water and sand off his body and clothes, and directing all of it to splash onto her dress. “Sometimes I really have no idea how I put up with your excessive levels of immaturity and…and…sass.” 

"Sass?" Korra laughs, shoving him with her shoulder. "That’s the best you can come up with? And…" - another predatory grin spreads across her face - "You didn’t seem to think that I was so immature last night."

Tarrlok covers his face with one hand, feeling it burn. “Truce?” he offers, voice muffled.

Korra responds by hugging him around the waist, resting her head against the back of his shoulder in agreement. He wraps an arm around her, and they stay like that for a long while, lapsing into a comfortable silence. As usual, she is the one to break it, after a few moments of thought, while absentmindedly rubbing her hand up and down his back. “Hey, Tarrlok?”

"Hmm?" He sounds absolutely content, eyes closed in a state of almost-drowsiness.

"Can you tell me who Noatak is?"

Korra has never seen his demeanor change so fast - which is really saying something, considering the fact that he is pretty temperamental, almost as much as she is. Tarrlok’s entire body tenses up as if he’s preparing for an attack, the muscles in his back going rigid beneath her hands. “What? he asks quietly, sharply, his hair falling forward to hide his face. 

She pulls back, surprised by the unexpectedly intense reaction, but now, her desire to know is that much stronger. “I said, can you tell me who Noatak—”

"I heard you," Tarrlok snaps, looking down at his hands. They’ve gone pale and clammy, and he flexes his fingers, obviously trying to restore some feeling to them. "I - where did you hear that name?"

"From you," Korra replies shortly, unease beginning to mingle with her curiosity. "You’ve said it in your sleep a few times." _A few times, meaning about once every week for every week that we’ve been here,_ she adds to herself silently. “I was just wondering…”

She watches Tarrlok carefully, taking in his body language, and she can’t help but note that the last time she saw his composure slip like this was the night of their confrontation in his office back in Republic City, and then the day that he had formed his new plan to escape the city and take her along as his hostage. He’s as tense and tightly drawn as a live wire, his jaw clenched, as he swallows over his dry throat. He looks down at the sand again, and gradually, his shoulders slump out of what looks like sheer defeat. “Noatak,” he says, his voice barely audible, “is - was - my brother.”

The words hang in the air between them, heavy and stifling, and it seems to take several moments for Korra to fully comprehend them. The color begins to drain from her face as she does, and Tarrlok has to restrain an inappropriate, bitter scoff. Of course she would be horrified at the knowledge; terrified by the implications that there are more like him out there; more unbelievably powerful and dangerous bloodbenders of Yakone’s line. 

"Um," Korra replies at last, a little unsteadily. "I didn’t know you had a brother."

Tarrlok glances at her through the corner of his eye, and he’s all too conscious of the fact that she is the only person who he has ever admitted this to. “Nobody does.” 

Korra remains silent, looking up at him with those wide, inquisitive blue eyes. Finally, she reaches out and touches him again, tentatively. “What happened?”

He could refuse to tell her. She doesn’t have to know this story; she already knows too much as it is. _Nobody_ has to know this. He’s spent his entire life keeping these secrets close to his heart; for the past twenty years, he’s been the only person alive who has known the truth. It should stay that way. Still, without even his conscious permission, the words begin to spill out, slowly and haltingly at first.

"You know that Yakone escaped his life sentence," he begins, a little awkwardly, and she catches how he stammers over Yakone’s name. "He had connections, even in the most high-security prison in the Earth Kingdom. They helped him break out, and he underwent surgery to change his appearance. He changed his name as well, and forged a new identity for himself, before returning to the Northern Water Tribe. That was where he met my mother." 

Tarrlok stops for a few moments, and Korra rests her hand on his, silently encouraging him to continue. “I want you to know that she wasn’t at all like him,” he says stiffly, curling his fingers around hers. “She had no idea of his past. She was a warm, caring woman, who worked as one of the village non-bending healers, and it wasn’t long before the two of them married and had children. Noatak was my brother, three years older than me.” He smiles a little at some memory, but his voice catches in his throat ever so slightly. Like the other time she had caught him in a moment of vulnerability, it feels strange to witness, somehow. 

Korra leans against him, trying to be reassuring, telling herself that she just doesn’t want the story to be derailed by him unexpectedly bursting into tears or anything. “Noatak was a good older brother,” Tarrlok continues, the fondness in his voice unmistakable. “He was always looking out for me. They were good years, and we were happy.” He reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Everything changed when we both discovered that we were waterbenders. At first, it was fun and exciting, but then my father began to train us, and it brought out a…” He stops again, coughs. “A different side of him.”

Her skin crawls as she glances into his eyes, the look in them confirming her assumption that it had been the understatement of the century. Tarrlok smooths his fingers through his ponytail almost compulsively, and she gets the unnerving sense that he has retreated somewhere that she can’t reach him. Somewhere that she doesn’t want to follow, anyway. 

He clears his throat a little unsteadily, abruptly changing the topic. “When I was seven, my father took Noatak and I on a hunting trip far away from our village, and he told us the truth. That he was Yakone, Republic City’s most notorious and dangerous criminal, and that he was once a bloodbender of rare skill.” Tarrlok scratches his fingers in the sand absentmindedly, picking up a seashell and pressing the pad of his finger against the edge so sharply that Korra winces, expecting it to draw blood. “I didn’t even know what bloodbending was, let alone that our family had the strongest line of bloodbenders in history. It was Noatak that asked Yakone about what happened to his bending.”

Tarrlok looks over at her, then away quickly, as if ashamed. “He told us about how Avatar Aang had taken it from him - but of course, it didn’t prevent Noatak and I from inheriting the ability. I still remember every line of his little speech.” He spits the words with sudden vehemence. “He wanted us to become bloodbenders of the highest order. _When the time is right, you will claim Republic City and you will destroy the Avatar. You must avenge me._ That was our purpose in life.”

Korra closes her eyes briefly, trying to keep from shivering, because this story is more than she had thought it would be. Claim Republic City. Destroy the Avatar - destroy _her._ Tarrlok had certainly risen to a position of incredible power and influence in the city before everything had fallen apart. It seems incredible, that decades before she was even born, Yakone had been ordering his sons to seek her destruction, to punish her for what her past life had done. Until now - until everything that she had been through in the aftermath of Republic City - she had never fully understood what a burden being the Avatar really was. 

Tarrlok rests his hand on hers, and she jumps despite herself, catching the sadness that passes over his face for a brief instant. “We were his tools,” he says. “It was all about what he wanted. He started training us in bloodbending immediately afterwards. My mother never knew. Over the years, Yakone taught us how to bloodbend anytime, without the need for the full moon.”

All the breath leaves his body in a ragged sigh, and he pulls his hand back, huddling up and retreating back into himself. “I hated it,” he says miserably, the change in demeanor making him seem small, somehow, and Korra thinks back to what he had told her about having loved animals since the time he was very young. “I _hated_ hurting the animals. Against bloodbending, even the most fierce of them were helpless and so confused, and the things Yakone made us do—” He stops abruptly, again, closing his eyes, shuddering. “You have no idea what it’s like,” he continues, his voice low and pained. “How awful it is - but there was no choice. My fa—Yakone would never tolerate any sign of defiance.”

His words bring back the memories she tries her hardest to repress, of her desperate, misguided attempts to learn bloodbending, and her experimentation on the rat and the wolfcat out in the woods. _I know,_ she wants to say. _I know, I understand._ The guilt and the psychological effect on her had been immense - and Tarrlok had been years younger; a sensitive, defenseless child, who had also been forced into it by outside circumstances, and her stomach turns at the thought. Korra hugs him tightly despite herself, struggling to come to terms with and revolted by the actual, involuntary surge of compassion she feels. This is Tarrlok, after all, he’s done all kinds of terrible things, she’s not supposed to feel badly for him, awful upbringings do not justify kidnapping and bloodbending people, but still, _still_ —

Tarrlok wraps an arm around her again, as if grateful for her closeness. “Noatak didn’t feel the same way I did about it,” he says hoarsely, reaching out and scratching Sitka behind the ear. The dog sniffs at his wrist and licks his hand. “He - he liked the power. And he was a prodigy. He mastered Yakone’s psychic bloodbending and remote bloodbending techniques by the time he was fourteen. Yakone was pleased by his progress, but I suppose he felt that mine wasn’t enough. One day, he made us bloodbend each other.”

Korra can’t conceal her surprised intake of breath. She looks up at him sharply, unable to believe this latest disturbing twist. “You didn’t.”

"Noatak did," Tarrlok corrects, terse and bitter. "I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not after - it felt so…" He shudders again. "The pain was unbelievable. The complete loss of control was the most frightening thing I have ever felt." Accurately guessing what’s on her mind, he glances over at her once more, quickly, guiltily, before resuming his tale in a rush. "I stood up to Yakone for once, out of fear more than courage. I told him that I never wanted to bloodbend again. He lost his temper, and threatened me—"

Korra flinches. “Stop,” she orders, her chest tightening. As much as she’s hated Tarrlok and wanted him to pay for his actions, even once fantasized about beating the living tar out of him herself, imagining this playing out - imagining the man before her as a boy trapped in a situation of undeniable cruelty and abuse; imagining Yakone hitting him - is actually making her sick. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Tarrlok shakes his head. “It’s not - Noatak stepped in to protect me, before anything could happen. He used bloodbending on Yakone to force him into submission, just like he had taught us.” He gives a short bark of laughter at the irony; it’s an unpleasant sound that makes Sitka stiffen up, her ears flicking in alertness. “Noatak told Yakone that we were his sons, not his tools of revenge. And he wanted me to run away with him. He said it was our chance to get away from Yakone forever.”

Korra bites her lip. “…Did you?”

"I didn’t want to leave my mother," he replies simply. "Noatak was…disgusted, and disappointed, but I just couldn’t leave her alone like that. He knocked Yakone out and ran, and I - I tried to follow, I _begged_ him to come back—”

Korra looks away, pretending to be fascinated with the ocean, giving him some privacy. With every fiber of her being, she regrets asking in the first place. She wants to erase all of this from her mind. She didn’t think she would hear _this,_ all of this information that forces her to see a different side of him entirely— 

"Yakone and I searched for days," Tarrlok says finally, quietly. "We never found a sign of him. We assumed he perished in the storm and was buried in the layers of snow, or fell into one of the frozen lakes or the ocean. There was an awful blizzard that night, you see. He didn’t have anything with him except for the clothes on his back. No food, no furs or supplies."

She knows the kind of blizzard Tarrlok is referring to. Going out alone in one like that would have been suicide. She imagines the desperation that would have drove his brother to do something so extreme; how desperate he must have been to escape Yakone and the years of physical and mental abuse - only to slowly freeze to death in an arctic blizzard, lost in the middle of the tundra, alone and far from the mother and brother who loved him. Her eyes fill up with tears, and Korra swipes at them hurriedly. Tarrlok is looking away from her, occupying himself with petting Sitka.

"I’m sorry for your loss," she says awkwardly, hating the way her voice breaks on the last word. As much as a small, awful part of her is secretly relieved that there’s not another amoral, corrupt, prodigy adult bloodbender out in the world causing havoc and abusing their power after all, there’s no denying the pain Tarrlok feels - _still_ feels, more than half his life later, since Noatak still turns up in his dreams regularly and he still almost cries when talking about it. On a purely human level, after all, there’s something heartbreaking and wrong about a younger sibling outliving the older one like this, and everything about this story has made it one of the saddest ones she’s ever heard. After all, Noatak’s last act before running away was to try and protect Tarrlok from their father. 

Tarrlok looks back at her, apparently surprised by her reaction, and he hugs her close, kissing the top of her head. “I am, too,” he replies softly. “I still miss him. Logically, I know that he couldn’t have made it through that storm, but the fact that we never found a body always gave me some hope - that somehow, he managed to be safe and survive.” He hesitates. “When I got elected as the Northern Water Tribe’s representative, I thought that he might see me in the papers. They ran stories about it for a few days, since I was the youngest ever to be chosen for a seat on the council. So then, if he was alive, he would know where to find me. But he never came to see me, of course. It’s probably for the better. I might have hit him, and that wouldn’t have reflected well on my public image.”

"It must have been hard for you," Korra replies, unsticking her throat. "…Afterward, I mean." With Noatak gone and their mother deliberately kept in the dark, who would have stuck up for Tarrlok? 

_Why do you even care?_ a small inner voice speaks up, and she tries her best to ignore it, but the seeds of doubt have already been sown, and the voice warns her that compassion is not something she should be feeling towards him, because _he_ certainly didn’t show her any when he bloodbended her and kidnapped her—

"It was," he acknowledges. "My mother was absolutely heartbroken. Yakone was as well, although for entirely different reasons. He had just lost his most valuable weapon, and my mother had lost her first child." He drifts into silence for some time, picking up the seashell and worrying at it again. "She couldn’t bear to stay in the North Pole anymore. She hated the thought that the snow Noatak had played in when he was a baby had most likely buried and killed him fifteen years later. And Yakone happened to own a cabin in the mountains outside of Republic City - close enough for him to secretly continue his work with the triads, but far enough that he wouldn’t be easily detected."

Korra swallows over her dry throat. She still remembers, with painful clarity, every small detail of the place that Tarrlok had imprisoned her. “Oh,” she comments. “Yeah, I’m familiar with _that_ cabin.”

"We moved there a year after Noatak disappeared." Tarrlok ducks his head, taking a handful of sand and watching it spill through his fingers. "And after Noatak disappeared, our situation just…degenerated. A year passed, then two, but my mother never really recovered from her depression." His lips twist bitterly. "Yakone didn’t help. He was still full of rage and frustration and the desire for revenge - and resentment. He hated Noatak, for running away - potentially dying - and abandoning him and his cause. He hated me for refusing to bloodbend, for making him force me into it every time. He hated my mother because he thought she made me _soft._ And he took every little bit of his anger out on her. I tried to stop him, but—”

She doesn’t have to ask for details. He gives them to her anyway, but this time, when she demands that he stop, he does.

Tarrlok looks up at the sky, petting Sitka with hands that shake slightly. “He pushed her too far, one day,” he says quietly. “It was close to another anniversary of Noatak’s disappearance, and Yakone had drunk too much. He broke her fingers again. There’s only so much abuse that somebody can take, you know. I came home from a hunting trip and found her on the bathroom floor.”

His voice is too calm, and Korra stays mute, frozen, horrified, her thought process slowed to the point of molasses. She can’t help but reach out and touch the necklace that rests around her throat, and she longs to rip it off and throw it into the ocean, knowing who it belonged to last, knowing what fate she came to, at the hands of the man who she had married—

She had been in that bedroom, the bedroom that Yakone shared with his wife. She’d sat on that bed, not knowing that Tarrlok would have carried his mother’s body there and set her down on it. She’d cast a glance over at the direction of the closed bathroom door, wondering if there was a window there she could make her escape from. And she bites her tongue, trying to suppress the wave of nausea that threatens to overwhelm her.

Sitka gets up and starts to lick Tarrlok’s face. He doesn’t say a word when he wraps his arms around the dog and buries his head in her fur, in the way she used to with Naga whenever she cried. Korra places her hand on his back tentatively, feeling him shiver beneath her touch, and she knows she should say something, but the hopelessly inadequate words stick in her throat and won’t come out. At last, she settles with hugging him, pressing her cheek to his back, feeling his too-fast heartbeat against her arms.

"I buried her in the back of the house, in her garden," he says, at last, voice muffled by fur. "I couldn’t give her a traditional Water Tribe burial, because the ocean was too far away. I took all the money in the house, walked to the harbor, and caught the next ship to the North Pole. I was seventeen."

Her age. Korra rubs his back as comfortingly as she can, still lost in the horror of it all. _There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,_ he had snarled, when they had fought at City Hall. And he had been so terribly right. For the first time, she comprehends the full weight of why he had never wanted to talk about his childhood; why he felt so pressured to keep this whole horrible truth from everybody else that he’s ever met.

"You kept this all to yourself," Korra says quietly, disbelievingly, "for twenty years?" She can’t imagine it.

Tarrlok nods, still holding Sitka. “I couldn’t tell anyone, of course,” he mumbles. “This family was never supposed to exist. If I wanted to make a name for myself academically, socially, politically, _nobody_ could know these secrets - that my brother disappeared, my mother committed suicide, my father was a bloodbender and one of the world’s most notorious criminals, that I was a—”

He trails off, and Korra realizes, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that there’s one thing, one last thing, weighing on her mind. One loose end.

"Tarrlok," she asks cautiously. Part of her knows the answer already; is telling her not to even ask, but— "…What happened to Yakone?"

Tarrlok looks at her out of the corner of his eye, and something in his expression makes her want to edge away, as he answers her question with one of his own. “What do you think happened to Yakone?”

Korra quickly falls silent; forces herself not to recoil from him in fresh horror.

"I never used bloodbending again," he says, at last. "Until that night in City Hall." He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes, and for a second, he looks like nothing more than a tired child. He pauses again, obviously struggling to find the words, and it’s an effort  for her to remain quiet and patient.

"I’ve tried to distance myself from Yakone for my entire life, in every way that I possibly could. He was uneducated, so I went to university and tried to cultivate my intelligence. He was a classless brute, so as an adult, I immersed myself in sophistication and culture. He tried to control Republic City from its underworld, and I pursued a position forming and upholding laws within the city council, and protecting the city from criminals like him." Tarrlok sighs, looking down and pressing a hand into the sand. "I never realized that I was still becoming just like him," he finishes wearily. "But everything that happened in Republic City during the end proved that, didn’t it?"

Korra stays silent, waiting for him to continue. The hunter’s instinct in her says that they’re close to some kind of breakthrough. Tarrlok has never opened up like this. Such honesty is uncharacteristic - she feels like most of the time, he’s even lying to himself, endlessly justifying his own actions and the extreme measures he’s always been willing to go to.

He touches her hand, lifting it from the sand and taking it in his own. “I should never have bloodbended you,” he admits softly, and Korra nearly falls over out of shock. “I shouldn’t have attacked you in the first place at all. I was furious at you for threatening to take away all the power and influence that I had worked so hard for, and for a few other reasons - but I’m the adult, I was supposed to be the mature one. I should have held on to my temper. And instead, I tried to cut you up with ice daggers and threw you across the room. I lashed out at you, just like Yakone did to my mother.”

He brushes his fingers across her face, and although the scar on her cheekbone has long since faded, the place where it had been tingles. Tarrlok sighs, and she realizes that she has never seen anybody look this sad and defeated. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he says flatly. “And with the bloodbending - I’m not trying to justify it, but at first, when I stopped your firebending, it was just out of self-defense, but it got out of control within a matter of seconds. All the rest…I was just so _angry._ " 

Korra stays still, morbidly fascinated by the rare insight into his mind, and Tarrlok ruffles her hair, the faraway look in his eyes making it clear that he’s reliving the entire experience. “I was angry at you for not cooperating with my plans, for attacking me when I was defenseless, with such deadly force that I felt forced to resort to something I had sworn never to do again. You threatened to destroy my livelihood and strip me of my power, just like Aang had done to Yakone, and I didn’t want to be disgraced and share the same fate. And at the same time, part of me wasn’t even seeing _you_. Noatak wore his hair just like yours, you know. You share an unusually strong resemblance to him. And soon, it wasn’t even about you, but about him. I always felt like if he hadn’t left, if he hadn’t abandoned us, things would have turned out differently, and I - it was like I was punishing him for it. And Avatar Aang,” he adds, as an afterthought. “If he hadn’t been a merciful fool, he would have allowed the council to execute Yakone. He insisted on a life sentence instead, and look at all the damage and destruction that Yakone wreaked after he escaped.”

Tarrlok falls silent, finally, and Korra stares, lost for words. She had always thought it would help, to understand him, but she had never guessed that _this_ was just a tiny fraction of what he was hiding, underneath all of those polished layers. “Well,” she manages, with difficulty. “That - that is one of the most disturbing things that I have ever heard.”

"I know," he admits, looking away, and it sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. "I _know._ It was wrong and sick and twisted and whenever I look at you now - just Korra, not the Avatar, Aang’s reincarnation, not Noatak - I can’t believe that I did it.”

There’s genuine remorse radiating from him, and Korra squeezes his hand lightly, knowing that she has to tread carefully. “If you feel so bad about it,” she asks, “why did you kidnap me? Why did you run?”

"Bloodbending is a capital offense," Tarrlok replies, picking up the seashell and tossing it back to the ocean. "You know that." He looks at her intently, as if willing her to understand something. "I…I am _so_ sorry for everything that I did in Republic City, and for doing this to you, for putting you through this. I know that it has been traumatic. Believe me, I’ve had to deal with the guilt every single day, of knowing what I’ve done to somebody that I’ve come to - care about. I wanted you, yes, but not like this.”

"But," Korra cuts in dryly.

"…But I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life in jail, or be executed, for one mistake made in a flare of temper. I felt like I had no choice."

"Sure," she replies coolly, taking another seashell and throwing it out to sea, watching the splash it makes. "What was my life in the scheme of things, right?"

"I haven’t treated you cruelly, have I? I haven’t made this any more stressful or unpleasant than it it has to be."

"That doesn’t make it any better!" Korra snaps, seeing red, her hands clenching into fists. "You keep saying that, but it _really_ doesn’t! Why don’t you try and put yourself in my shoes for a while? You - you - lost your temper and came at a defenseless person with firebending, but then something awful happened that you could have _never_ anticipated, and then the person panicked and took you far away from everybody and everything you know and love, not even giving you a chance to say goodbye, and sure he’s really nice to you and treats you like a damn princess, but that doesn’t change the fact that every day, you know that you may never see your friends and teachers and parents again, and they might all get hurt or _die_ in a revolutionary war and you could have protected them if only you were there!” 

Tarrlok flinches, startled by the outburst, and then all the breath leaves his body in a long sigh. “What would you have done if you were in my position, Korra?”

"I would have owned up to it and faced the consequences," she replies, lifting her chin defiantly. "I wouldn’t have run away." 

"Really." He looks at her unblinkingly. "Maybe that’s true, maybe you are braver than I am. We’ll see. If you like to play hypotheticals, here’s a different situation for you to consider. You’re Korra of the Southern Water Tribe, and your father taught you bloodbending before you left the South Pole to come to Republic City. He knows it’s illegal, of course, that it’s the darkest of the bending arts, but his father taught it to him, after all, and impressed on him that it was only ever to be used for self-defense in the most extreme of situations. Your father never used it himself, but he passed the knowledge on to you. His pretty, young small-town daughter, going out into the world for the first time - to a place where she runs the risk of encountering unscrupulous men who are all too willing to take advantage of a naive girl. Are you following me so far?"

Korra fidgets, profoundly uncomfortable already, but nods with some reluctance, and Tarrlok continues. “You’re in the city. Everything is going smoothly so far. One night, you go out on a date with a nice young man from your pro-bending team, and let’s say that he invites you over to his apartment for drinks, afterward. He starts to do things that you’re not ready for, to push your boundaries, and he’s persistent - he just won’t take no for an answer, and he’s stronger than you are.”

Korra closes her eyes against the picture he’s painting. “Go on,” she says, through gritted teeth.

"You’re scared and angry, and you feel trapped. You just want to protect yourself. It’s a split-second decision, a last resort - you bloodbend. You neutralize him and, in a fit of temper, injure him to the point that he’s not a threat to you anymore. You’re safe for the moment, physically, but then he gets _very_ angry. He threatens to expose you for what you are to the press and to law enforcement, and you know the consequences for bloodbending. It’s a human rights violation that has serious legal ramifications. You’ll face criminal charges, and so will your father, for passing on the knowledge to you. Your reputation as the Avatar will be utterly destroyed. You suddenly realize that you’re facing the complete loss of your freedom. You’re looking at decades of imprisonment in a maximum-security prison; decades locked up in a dark, tiny cell, in complete and total isolation, and it’s _so_ unfair - you’ve never done anything bad before, you’ve only tried to help people.”

Tarrlok pauses, letting it sink in. “Do you let him turn you in?” he asks pointedly. “Be honest with yourself. Do you silently, peacefully accept the consequences of your actions? Or do you choose to do whatever it takes, no matter how morally repugnant it is, in order for you to survive?”

Korra shakes her head, her mind a tumult of confusion. “I—” she starts, unsure of what she’s even trying to say, and she can’t believe he backed her into a corner like this. “I…”

"I thought so," he says quietly. "It’s not as easy at it seems at first glance, is it?"

"No," she acknowledges hesitantly, looking away from the glimmer of tears in his eyes. "It’s not."

"I loved Republic City," Tarrlok says, after a while. "It was my home for more than ten years. But starting over here, living as a non-bender, with this modest career, lacking in power and influence as it is - it’s been like a second chance for me, to try and be a better person, and I think I’m making progress. I feel farther from Yakone’s shadow than I ever could be in the North Pole and in the city."

"Tarrlok…" Korra begins, trying to reassure him, because if this little conversation has taught her anything, it’s that for all the similarities that he and Yakone shared, they had just as many differences as well, and she has a heightened understanding of why he has always tried so hard to treat her well. And besides, she doesn’t want to hear this, it’s making her feel things she doesn’t want to feel for him; throwing yet more complications and mixed feelings into her plan, because it’s not like she can’t relate to what it feels like, to always be in someone else’s shadow, and to finally be her own person for once—

"I even _look_ like him,” he interrupts, rubbing his face in obvious exhaustion, his nerves clearly frayed by the long, too-intimate talk. “You don’t know how much that haunted me, every time I looked in the mirror.”

"Shh," she says, to silence her own unexpectedly traitorous thoughts as well as everything else, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to her in an embrace. "Come here." 

Tarrlok holds her, resting his face against the side of her neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, again.

Korra rubs his back, gently, comfortingly, while Sitka comes to nestle at their side, and she’s all too conscious of the fact that this is the first time that the balance of power has shifted, however slightly, to her. This conversation has given her a landmine of issues of his that she should exploit at a later date. She had always expected that catching Tarrlok in a moment of such vulnerability would be exciting and empowering; a victory to celebrate. Right now, though, as she holds him, quietly telling him that everything is going to be all right, she feels nothing but sorrow.

-

It takes Tarrlok a few days to recover from the conversation on the beach, and as conflicted as she feels about it, Korra tries her best to help him along. When she kisses him, trying to wake him up in time for work the next morning, he opens reddened eyes, looks up at her tiredly, and then tugs her on top of him for an impromptu cuddle. “You don’t think I’m pathetic, do you?” he asks quietly, holding her close.

"Not pathetic," she replies honestly, pulling back enough to smooth the hair out of his face. "I think that you have a lot of issues, and you’ve made a lot of mistakes, but you’re not pathetic."

That’s the most problematic thing about all of this. If she had been conflicted before, it’s nothing compared to what she feels now. On a logical level, she still knows that none of what Tarrlok had told her justifies everything he had done, and that it was still wrong - but still—

That evening, when he comes home from work to find that she’s attempted to make his favorite food for dinner and only burned the strips of seal _slightly_ as opposed to severely and beyond all recognition, he smiles for the first time in what feels like days, the tension in his shoulders relaxing somewhat. He places his hands on her waist as she stands near the stove and thanks her, kissing her on the cheek, and that is the moment where Korra realizes that she absolutely cannot go through with her plan to betray his trust. That envisioning their return to Republic City, where she hands Tarrlok over to the police to face the consequences of what he’s done, and imagining the look on his face when she does it, actually causes her physical pain. That she doesn’t think she will ever be able to face him in court, in front of the council, and testify against him, after all that they’ve been through together, after all the intimacies that they’ve shared, emotional and physical and merely mundane. 

She touches a hot pan out of shock and burns her fingers on it. Even though the food she made doesn’t kind of suck, for once, she can’t really taste it in her mouth. 

She sits on the edge of the bathtub after dinner, in a mild state of shock. 

_Korra, what is wrong with you?_ she asks herself, feeling no small amount of inner panic. _What is_ wrong _with you?_ All this sympathy and compassion that she feels for him - it’s - it’s not _right,_ but at the same time, she can’t stop herself. 

She slides from the edge of the bathtub to the floor, her muscles feeling like they’ve been turned to water. It’s worse than being chi-blocked. She can’t answer the question; all she knows is that she was wrong; she had miscalculated, she can’t do this to someone who loves her. She can’t hurt someone who’s already been so badly hurt in so many ways. She can no longer even say she honestly believes that Tarrlok deservesto be imprisoned, after all. He had bloodbended her and Tenzin and the others back in Republic City, but not with excessive cruelty, like Yakone had - just enough to allow him to get away. He had kidnapped her, but for the first time, she had received confirmation that he actually did feel guilty about it. After everything that had happened last night - it’s clear that he’s suffering enough, and what will putting him in jail do, anyway? It’s not like he’s a constant, ever-present danger to others, just like Yakone had been. Like he had told her yesterday, he’s trying to be a better man, and in essence, he _is_ a good person. 

Korra puts her head in her hands and takes a few deep breaths. She has to think, to try and figure out what to do now, where to go from here; if there is a way to reconcile her need to get back to Republic City with her desire to protect Tarrlok. 

But not right now. She gets up unsteadily, dusting her dress off, taking a look at herself in the mirror to make sure that everything appears normal, before stepping outside to go and do some punching drills in the backyard. Not right now. She’s done enough thinking for one day, and now, every time Tarrlok even crosses her mind, her thoughts veer off into more and more uncomfortable places. 

-

"Why is it that the bakery closes at seven-thirty?" Roumei asks grumpily, while Korra scowls at the closed sign that is scribbled on a piece of cardboard and taped to the inside of the glass door, thinking longingly of the chocolate pastries inside, so close and yet so far. Dinner with them had been a great way to get her mind off everything that’s been plaguing her for the past week, and eating great sweets would have been perfect to finish off the evening. 

"Next time we want to have dinner together, we’ll remember to get dessert before," Emi says sheepishly, turning away from the closed store and beginning to walk down the street. "This wouldn’t have happened if I had remembered to get more flour for the cake at the market…although now that I think of it, we do have some alternatives."

Emi and Roumei exchange conspiratorial glances. While Korra blinks, unsure of what’s going on, they link arms with her and lead her down the street, toward the seedier part of town. About fifteen minutes later, the three of them step into the town’s only liquor store, one of the larger buildings in the whole town, which is stacked with shelves upon shelves of hundreds of bottles of various heights, colors, and labels. It’s enough to make her head spin, but the two of them seem adept enough at navigating it. Emi plucks a tall, dark bottle with Earth Kingdom writing off one of the shelves, while Roumei tries to explain the differences between drinks to her.

"We’ll start you off with something classic," she points out, stretching up on the tips of her toes, to retrieve a dark green bottle with a Water Tribe emblem on it. "This is laced with some good, old-fashioned cactus juice. The original."

Korra laughs, thinking back to Master Katara’s hilarious stories about her brother’s misadventures with cactus juice in the Si Wong desert. “This should be exciting.”

"Oh, it will be," Emi assures her. "And don’t worry, you’re not going to have hallucinations of friendly mushrooms or anything, it’s been stripped of the _really_ hallucinogenic properties somehow. Mostly everything is just fun and vivid.”

They finish up at the store and then head their separate ways at town square, back to their homes, after Roumei manages to convince Emi and Korra that stealing the cabbage farmer’s ladder and then climbing to the top of the mayor’s office to have drinks on the roof is a bad idea. Korra lets herself in, wandering into the sitting room to find Tarrlok stretched out on the sofa, looking content and immersed in a thick biography of one of the craziest Fire Lords. 

"You’re home," he greets with a smile, marking his page and setting the book aside. "Did you bring me one of those chocolate croissants that you were raving about?"

"Hmm, not quite." Korra pulls the bottle out of the paper bag, showing it to him. "We were feeling a little bit more adventurous tonight."

“ _Very_ adventurous,” Tarrlok agrees, raising an eyebrow. 

"Want to try some with me?" she asks, flinging herself down on the sofa as well, giving him her most winning smile. This might be what he needs, after being down for the past few days. They can share mild hallucinations about ridiculous things and be silly together.  "Come on, it’ll be fun."

He hesitates, looking at the bottle again. “I’m not sure I should.”

Korra frowns, a little confused. “Why not?” 

"I used to have a slight problem with alcohol," he says delicately. "Quietly, of course - completely in private - I never let it affect my work or come into the public eye. I’ve been better for about five years now, but I still prefer to not drink anything that’s too hard."

Korra winces out of sheer mortification, remembering the pain and problems that he would drink to escape. “I’m sorry,” she says hastily. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you or anything. I can…I can go somewhere else, if you want, or save this for the next time I get together with Emi and Roumei.”

She gets up, but then he takes her hand, gently pulling her back down. “It’s all right. I don’t see that there would be any real harm in it.” He brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering at her temple. “I’m in a better place now than I have been before.”

Korra blushes, leaning her face into his hand. “I’ll get us a couple of glasses, then.”

It turns out that she likes the cactus juice a lot more than she’d liked the champagne. Tarrlok laughs when she takes her first sip, and then falls back against the sofa, staring at the polar leopard pelt hung over the fireplace with a shocked expression on her face. She bursts out in giggles when he takes his first drink, seems to handle it with composure for a long while, and then hugs her tight, telling her that her hair smells like vanilla cookies and rainbows.

Time and conversations pass weirdly while under the influence, and they both relax until eventually, they lean on each other, huddled up in a comfortable heap in the corner of the sofa. Korra takes another drink, straight out of the bottle, and she stares at it in fascination as she pulls it away from her mouth. The dark olive green seems more vivid than any color she’s ever seen, and she taps the corner of the label on the bottle shakily, her finger lingering on the dark tribal swirling patterns. “My dad has a tattoo just like this,” she manages. “All over the bottom of his leg. His dad took him to get it when he came of age.”

Tarrlok nods, his eyes darkening. “Noatak promised me that we would both get one when I turned seventeen. Of course, he was long gone by then, and I never…in all these years, I couldn’t bring myself to…” He stares at the ground, his gaze losing its focus. Korra takes his hand in her own, and he squeezes it with a bitter scoff. “Look at me,” he says, harsh and self-deprecating, turning away. “How pathetic.”

Korra watches him for a few moments, her chest aching in a way that has nothing to do with the harsh alcohol. All she wants is for him to be happy again, and she’s too drunk to fully comprehend how disturbing that impulse is. She stands unsteadily, holding a hand out to him. “Get up, loser.”

Tarrlok looks at her warily, but places his hand in hers and allows her to pull him up nevertheless. “What are you doing?”

"Put your boots on." She pushes him toward the hallway, laughing when he almost trips over the coffee table. "We’re going to the tattoo parlor."

Tarrlok nudges his boots with his feet, staring at her with a tentative, almost child-like uncertainty. “Korra—”

"We’ll do it together," she assures him bracingly, trying to place her left foot in her right shoe several times, before realizing her error. 

The look on his face softens, and he leans her against the wall, awkwardly cupping her face in his hands and giving her a clumsy but affectionate kiss. They get their shoes on with some effort, find some money, and reassure the worried-looking Sitka that they won’t be out for long, before stepping into the cool night, hand-in-hand.

They find that the tattoo place does do traditional Water Tribe designs, and after some time perusing a detailed sketchbook and consulting with the owner and his wife, Korra finds herself in a separate room, the sleeve of her dress rolled up to the top of her arm, as the owner’s wife readies all of the supplies. The alcohol had numbed any sense of nervousness, and she closes her eyes, preparing herself for the first prick of the needle. She and Tarrlok had both chosen similar designs, although his will cover a larger area than hers.

This is not at all how she imagined receiving her first inking. She had always imagined her parents at her side, helping her choose the tribal emblems she would adorn herself with. Her mom would have probably drawn a careful, elaborate rendition of it for her to look at beforehand. Korra bites her lip to keep any emotion from showing on her face. Then again, _nothing_ about every major life event that she’s experienced in the past few months is how she would have imagined it.

She focuses instead on the soft music piping through the speakers, as the artist begins her work. That song about someone losing their heart in Republic City comes on twice, inexplicably making her eyes fill up with tears that she quickly blinks away. The radio is tuned to some romantic song station, and she can’t think of a nice way to ask them to change it. 

The entire process takes about one and a half hours, before the woman finally wipes her arm clean, and Korra admires the work - the slender but elaborate wavy strip of tribal art, running from the top of her shoulder almost to her elbow - before she wraps it in a sterile bandage. She waits for another half hour, idly flicking through books of sketches of Fire Nation-style tattoos, before Tarrlok emerges from the other room of the tiny shop, one hand pressed to his upper arm. She smiles at him, and when he smiles back, it lights up his entire face, and she has the briefest glimpse of the sweet, happy child he had once been.

It’s an hour before midnight when they finally leave, after paying and receiving instructions on how to properly care for their new tattoos. Tarrlok nods seriously, obviously mentally taking notes, while most of it flies over Korra’s head. Roumei had warned her that it took a long time to fully sober up from the effects of cactus juice, and Korra flinches back from the slap of the cold air as they step outside again, despite the warmth of his arm around her shoulders.  

"This stings," he says mournfully, after a few minutes. The streets are utterly deserted at this time of night, the streetlights dim, and as they make their way home, it feels like they’re the only two people in the world. "I didn’t think it would sting."

"You just had half your shoulder blade and your upper arm poked over a hundred times with needles," Korra replies, rolling her eyes. "What did you think it would feel like, soft bunnies and sunshine?"

Tarrlok prods her in the ribs, making her yelp and push him off the sidewalk and into the street. He pouts at her, injured, and she relents, holding her arms out until he comes back to her, pulling her into an embrace and kissing the top of her head. Korra rests her cheek against the soft fur trim of his shirt, feeling the warmth and his heartbeat. Her chest and throat clench up and her head swims, and even though it’s been hours since her last drink, it feels like she’s still at the height of intoxication. 

"Sometimes I’m afraid that I’m falling for you," she mumbles, her voice barely audible, and she hadn’t really _meant_ to say it aloud, but the pressure of keeping it inside makes her feel sick, and there’s nobody else to confide it to except Sitka, who’s heard it all by now. “And I don’t _want_ to, and it scares me so much that I am.”

Tarrlok rubs his hand up and down the small of her back, before leaning down and kissing her forehead. “I love you too,” he replies seriously, sighing. “But I don’t think that was ever much of a secret.”

Korra stays still for a little while, trying to cope with the impact the words have on her. It’s like an earth disc to the chest all over again, knocking the breath from her body, and she can’t think of anything to say that won’t result in her bursting into confused tears. Finally, she pulls back, taking his hand again, and they silently head back home.

-

_to be continued_

-

 


	8. Part Eight

Korra wakes up with an inexplicably sore arm and a headache.

She rolls onto her side with a groan, snuggling against Tarrlok’s back. Her nose twitches as she feels it brush up against something unfamiliar - not warm skin - and she sneezes, rubbing at her eyes in confusion as she stares at the bandages covering his shoulder blade and upper arm, and her own upper arm as well. She kicks his leg until he stirs, turning to face her and draping his arms over her body with a long-suffering sigh, blinking at her tiredly through the long curtain of messy, dark hair. “There are more pleasant ways that you could wake me up, you know.”

Korra raises an eyebrow at him, tugging lightly on his hair and coughing to clear her throat. “First I want to know what we did last night. Don’t tell me our waterbending spar got _that_ rough.”

Tarrlok smirks faintly, shaking her hand free. “You don’t remember the tattoo parlor?” He runs his fingers lightly over her bandaged arm, and when she flinches, he kisses it, once again demonstrating a momentary lapse in the prissy attitude she had mocked for so long. “Then again, you did drink a little more after we got home, so I’m not too surprised.”

His words bring last night back, all at once - the sweet taste of the cactus juice in her mouth, the feeling of the needles pricking her skin, the way she had felt when he smiled at her. And Korra freezes, her head falling back against the pillow, as her awful, intoxicated, muddled confession plays back in her head. 

But that hadn’t even been the worst part. The worst part had come after.

_I love you too. But I don’t think that was ever much of a secret._

She had tried to get away with acknowledging _it -_ that bombshell, that disastrous mushroom cloud explosion of feeling - with just a squeeze of the hand and a smile, but Tarrlok had been so affectionate after they had come home - so sweet and happy and carried away by whatever he had been feeling, all _Korra, you’re so special, Korra, I’m so lucky and happy to have you,_ all while cuddling her and kissing her like she was the most precious thing in the world. It had been painfully overwhelming; she hadn’t been sure how to respond without getting all flustered and tongue-tied and more than anything else, terribly, stomach-churningly guilty for even feeling the things she did for him. So she had turned back to the bottle, drunk another glass, and let that do the talking for her. 

_Wow,_ she thinks dryly, a little bitterly. _It’ll be a miracle if I get out of this whole screwed up situation without turning into a raging alcoholic._

Korra places her hand in his, and Tarrlok squeezes it lightly, giving her a small smile that brings back all the pain and confusion of last night. “We should get up,” he says. “We need to take these off and wash the tattooed areas, remember?”

"Uh…no," she replies sheepishly, making a note to avoid drinking again for a long time. "But I’ll take your word for it."

They settle in the bathroom and take turns cleaning the bandaged areas off, washing them with warm water and one of Tarrlok’s flowery soaps. The comfortable silence between them and the and splash of the water, combined with the feeling of  gentle hands on skin, is exactly the soothing thing she needed…even though the mix of ointment, blood, and plasma underneath both of their bandages is a little gross. Korra has seen worse on her dad after a hunting trip, but Tarrlok looks like he’s in danger of fainting, and there is an expression of great relief on his face when he finally finishes cleaning her arm, draping a towel over her bare shoulders.

He pulls her close and kisses the top of her head, as she wraps her arms around him. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For doing it with me.”

Korra glances up at him, fighting the urge to flinch back at the memory of how badly she had wanted to make him happy; of how deeply she had felt that making him happy would make her feel better. “Anytime,” she replies, trying to go for her usual lighthearted, casual tone. “Hey, I’ve been thinking of getting a snake-shark tattooed across my knuckles since I was like fifteen.”

Tarrlok gives her another small smile, touching her cheek. “…I meant what I said last night,” he adds, a little stiffly. Her face burns, and she rests it against his chest just to avoid looking at him, as he runs his fingers through her hair, drawing her close. “I love you, Korra.”

She feels the words more than she hears him say them. “I love you too,” she mumbles back, listening to the beat of his heart, and she can’t even come close to describing how it feels when she realizes that it’s not entirely the lie she wants it to be.

-

As recently as a year ago, based on what she had read in the romance novels she had read in secret, growing up, Korra had thought being in love would be one of the most joyous experiences imaginable. It would be just as exhilarating and dizzyingly wonderful as winning a pro-bending tournament, going deep-sea diving with Naga, or using firebending to make herself fly. As Ikki would describe it, it would be sunshine and rainbows and butterfly-robins. Everything would be happy and nothing would hurt.

Then the whole thing with Mako happened, and it had been confusing and upsetting. Asami and Bolin had been hurt too; she realized that now. And even that…even that, as difficult as it had felt at the time, had been nothing compared to the turmoil this has caused her. Half the time, it’s everything she thought it would be and even more, making her so happy that it actually hurts. She spends the other half punching the bag in the courtyard until her arms feel like they’re ready to fall off and sweat drips off her face, wearing herself into exhaustion in a miserable attempt to keep the guilt and self-loathing at bay.

Her arms and shoulders ache from the punishing training regimen now, as she flops back against the sofa, eyeing the bottle of lotion on the coffee table balefully. “You know, I really hate this whole moisturizing thing. I mean, we really have to do it twice a day, every day, for two whole weeks? It’s just so…boring.” 

Tarrlok glances up from the lesson plan he’s writing, shaking his head at her disapprovingly. “I still can’t believe that you have never regularly moisturized until now. It’s essential, in the kind of cold weather we grew up in.”

Korra pouts at him, squeezing the thick, oily lotion onto her hands, before rolling up her sleeve and massaging it onto her tattooed upper arm. “Hey, no judgment. I did just fine, pal.” She grins mischievously, stretching her foot out and prodding him in the side with it. “Actually, I think my skin is prettier than yours, even though I haven’t spent like six thousand hours since childhood immersed in whale blubber moisturizer.”

"That may have something to do with the fact that you’re just a little younger than I am," he replies dryly, poking her foot with his pen, without looking up from his paperwork. "And as usual, your attempt at estimation was awful. I’m reviewing it with my students at the end of this week, so you may want to sit in on the lesson."

Korra laughs, pulling her rolled-up sleeve down over the tattoo. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Anyway, I’m going to get some lychee juice from the kitchen. Do you want any?”

Tarrlok looks over at her with the polar bear-puppy-eyes that she can never really resist. “Would you mind getting those writing worksheets out of my bag in the study while you’re up?”

She rolls her eyes, giving him another affectionate kick, but gets up anyway, sauntering toward the study. Sitka lies in the doorway to the room, contentedly gnawing on a large bone Korra had bought her, and Korra smiles, petting the dog on the way in. The sealskin bag lies on the desk, where Tarrlok had put it as soon as he came back from work, and she reaches in, rifling through the numerous papers and making a face. Mathematics homework, history lesson plans, writing…? Those poor children. Writing? 

She finds them at the very end and pulls them out of the stack triumphantly, only to look down at the floor, crestfallen, when a bunch of math papers flutter down as well. She picks them up and sticks them back in, patting the bag to make sure that all the papers are secure and won’t explode all over the place the next time someone reaches in there, when—

Korra frowns, noticing something weird under her hand, inside the front zipper. She pats it again, and hears it once more. It’s a rustling sound, like paper. Her curiosity piqued, she unzips the front pocket and pulls the paper out, part of her expecting some kind of wrapping for another gift she doesn’t need. Instead, it turns out to be newspaper, folded into a small square. She shakes it open, anticipating a forgotten, old copy of the Earth Kingdom Times that hadn’t been thrown out, but the headline blaring from the front page, and the large black-and-white image dominating most of the space, makes her freeze, dropping the math worksheets onto the desk.

It’s the Republic City Times, dated from last week. “ _Anti-Bending Revolution Strikes Against Police Force,”_ the headline says, and the photograph is of a worn, weary-looking Saikhan at some kind of press conference. Numb with shock, Korra looks down at the caption, and a sick, plummeting feeling swoops over her stomach as she reads. _Fifteen more members of the metalbending police force have been kidnapped by revolutionary forces over the past week._

She just stares at it for a while, clutching the paper in a white-knuckled grip, unable to bring herself to read any more even though she has to know, she has to inform herself. Finally making up her mind, Korra crumples the paper in her fist, and it’s a struggle not to incinerate it out of pure rage. She storms back to the sitting room, leaving the writing worksheets in the study, and the second that Tarrlok glances up in her direction, some of the color leaves his face as his gaze flickers down to the newspaper. “Korra—” 

"No," Korra snaps, and perversely enough, his _let’s diffuse this situation_ politician tone of his just makes her angrier. “You bought this, and you read it, and you hid it from me! You knew I would have wanted to know!”

"I did," Tarrlok acknowledges, somewhat warily. He sets the papers aside, giving her his full attention. "There was a mistaken shipment at the market last week. I thought it was best that you not see it."

"You don’t decide what’s best for me!" Korra paces around the coffee table, feeling the heat and flames building inside her chest, a product of the firebender inside her. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to control her emotions and suppress the urge to breathe a torrent of flame. "I’m not a little kid and you’re not my dad, you don’t get to—" She can’t even explain why she’s so upset, it’s just the sudden reminder that yes, when it comes down to it, he _does_ decide “what’s best for her” and what she is and isn’t allowed to do or where she is or isn’t allowed to go; that this _isn’t_ a normal relationship and that he’s her captor as much as he is her…what? Lover, fake-husband? For weeks, she had either forgotten the skewed power dynamic between them, or deluded herself into believing that it didn’t exist anymore, and both explanations make her feel sick. Sick enough that Aang’s reminder of the importance of subtlety and discretion suddenly doesn’t seem to matter any longer, and she whirls around, throwing the newspaper down on the coffee table.

"We need to go back," she says, struggling to keep her tone calm, the blood pounding in her ears. "Right now."

Tarrlok looks at her incredulously, and then he laughs, the sound short and sharp and unpleasant. “And this is why I thought you shouldn’t know, because you would come up with something unreasonable and ridiculous just like this.”

Korra shakes her head, unwilling to believe it. “Don’t you feel guilty _at all_?” she exclaims, her voice rising steadily, ignoring the look he sends at the window. Her throat tightens and threatens to close over, and her eyes burn with the strength of the worry and agitation she feels. “Things are getting worse there, Amon is trying to take down the entire police force in order to make the citizens more vulnerable, and you don’t _care_?”

"Of course I care," Tarrlok replies tersely, a muscle in his jaw twitching out of strain as he stands up, towering over her as usual. "A lot of tragedies happen around the world every year, and I have compassion for all of the victims."

"Do you have the power to help any of those people?" 

He blinks, seemingly not understanding, and Korra swallows over her dry throat, taken aback by how dense he’s being. She can’t tell whether he’s doing it on purpose, or whether somewhere along the way, he had actually brainwashed himself. “You can make a difference,” she explains slowly, urgency creeping into her voice, as she takes his hand. “I’m the Avatar, I have to be there, it’s my duty. If you let me go, I can help them. I can at least try to win the non-benders and the Equalists back to my side, and stop Amon like that. You can come with me,” she adds, grasping at straws. “You can help, you’re smart and diplomatic and you think in a way that I don’t. We can do it together! You said that we were a good team once, remember? We can be a team again.”

She had expected the words to placate him, but Tarrlok snatches his hand out of hers, looking even angrier than he had before. “And I thought that you had actually grown up,” he snaps, moving away from her, like the proximity hurts. “You’re just as naive as ever. Do you really think Tenzin and the rest of the council and the city, and whatever law enforcement is left, would really accept me back and let me fight alongside them, after everything that’s happened? Like I wasn’t a practitioner of an evil, illegal art, like I hadn’t attacked all of them and you and kidnapped their precious Avatar?”

"Tarrlok," Korra cuts in, fighting to keep control of her temper, closing her eyes for a second and wishing for the millionth time that she was Aang. "This is about more than you and me! Both of us - we can’t be selfish, we can’t just _hide_ out here while all of this is going on!”

"Why not?" he asks sharply, his shoulders tensing up even more. "And for the spirits’ sake, don’t tell me that it’s because you’re the Avatar."

"But—"

"You’re not special," he interrupts, the venom in his voice startling her momentarily. "You’re not invincible. You’re not a fully realized Avatar; you couldn’t even get into the Avatar State to defend yourself when you faced Amon on Memorial Island. You were as weak and defenseless as any civilian. He can take your bending too, he can kill you—"

The words hit precisely on her deepest fears and vulnerabilities, the things she had confessed to him in bits and pieces - in the middle of the night after nightmares or panic attacks, or quiet weekend afternoons when it was bright outside and she felt safe enough to talk about it, and Korra hesitates, stammering momentarily. “I - I - that’s not the point! Even if it’s dangerous for me to be there, it’s still my duty, it was what I was born to do, no matter what. Keeping balance is why I _exist._ ”

"Yes," Tarrlok replies harshly, sarcastically. "Because being the Avatar has brought you so much happiness. You were so happy when you told me about how your parents cried for months after you went to live at that compound, about how your mother still cries and feels like she missed out on time raising her only child. Oh, and let’s not forget your joy when you talked about how you didn’t have a single human friend until you were seventeen - or all the tears of happiness you shed when being the Avatar put you in _this_ situation—”

"Stop!" Korra yells, and her voice cracks, and she hates it. That had all been stuff she had confided to him, and he can’t just bring it up during a fight to try and hurt her or prove a point or whatever - is this what adult relationships are like? She had never seen her parents fight like this, or Pema and Tenzin. She shakes her head determinedly, wishing she could expel the words from her mind with such ease. "It doesn’t matter. None of that matters." Her nose is running, and she wipes at it with her sleeve.

Tarrlok looks at her, an unreadable expression on his face, and after a few moments, she realizes that it’s pity. “Yes, it does,” he says. “It does matter. It should matter.” He tries to wipe away her tears, and she flinches back. “Let somebody else deal with it. Let the United Forces or Fire Nation, Water Tribe, or Earth Kingdom forces step in.  Ever since we came here, I’ve been thinking that the world might rely too much on the Avatar to step in and solve their problems. To _maintain the balance._ They put the world’s responsibilities on your shoulders, they often put you in incredible danger, and ultimately, you’re all only human.” He places a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to feel so guilty, Korra. They will learn how to survive this situation without an Avatar. Maybe it’s time that the world learns this lesson.”

Korra shakes her head, sniffling. “It’s not like that,” she protests, confused by what he’s saying. It’s so diametrically opposite to everything she had been taught from childhood and grown up believing. “You don’t understand.”

"No, _you_ don’t understand,” Tarrlok snaps back, taking a step toward her, his patience evidently running out. “I’ve never met anybody so desperately willing to be used, to be put in harm’s way like a deer-lamb up for slaughter. Even when we were on the task force together, I tried to convince you to abandon the idea of confronting Amon on Memorial Island, but you refused to listen. Your many issues and your _complex_ would have gotten you into serious trouble—”

"I don’t have - I’m not—" And part of her, inside, can’t help but curl up in a miserable ball because of how mean to her he’s being, and over the past months, she had grown used to seeing a different side of him. When they had been enemies, his cutting words had bounced off her like water off a turtleduck’s back, but things are different now. " _You’re_ the one who doesn’t understand,” Korra accuses, pointing at him, not even caring that it’s immature. “You have nobody in Republic City that you care about! No close friends, no family, no wonder it doesn’t matter to you at all! It’s not even about the fact that I’m the Avatar.” She crosses her arms defiantly. “Even if I wasn’t, I’d want to go back and fight and do my part to protect my friends and family.”

"I see that you’re very attached to them," Tarrlok replies, looking down at her, his tone calm and even in the way that indicates that something particularly unpleasant is coming. "But you do realize that you’ve now been with me for a longer period of time than you were in Republic City? Are you entirely certain that your friends still even remember you, or think about you at all?"

"Yeah," Korra replies immediately, without missing a beat, revealing nothing of the crawling uncertainty inside her. "I am."

"Interesting," Tarrlok says dispassionately, "considering everything that you told me about your time with them. Most of it was focused on pro-bending, and you didn’t have much time for bonding after that was over. Hardly a week and a half or so."

_And their friendship with you was what  got all of them thrown in jail._ The unspoken words hang heavily in the air between them; he doesn’t even need to say it aloud. “…And as for Tenzin’s family,” he adds smoothly, casually, “I have no doubt that they all cared deeply for you. You’re easy to love. But you _do_ understand that it was an indirect function of your title, correct? They would have taken the next Avatar into their family, no matter who it was.” 

Korra looks away, crossing her arms over her chest. Her chest hurts from how hard she’s trying not to cry. She had never thought of it like that before, and she feels so horribly alone. “Tenzin’s family, your friends - they’re all very capable of taking care of themselves,” he adds. “They don’t need you.” 

"What about my parents?" she asks unsteadily, turning away sharply and picking up one of the bone carvings and studying it, just to distract herself. The workmanship isn’t quite as fine as her mother’s. "You can’t - you can’t twist that like you did with the others. If we go back to Republic City, I could see them again. They love me, really love me, and they want me back, and you’re keeping us apart."

Her voice wobbles and breaks again, and for once, Tarrlok seems briefly lost for words. He reaches out and rests his hand on her shoulder, and she’s too tired to shrug him off. “I understand that it must be very difficult for you,” he says, and he seems to hesitate for a while before continuing more quietly. “I know that it’s not the same, that there’s no replacing them, but maybe someday, the two of us can - you can find somebody else to love.”

Before she can even try and decipher the meaning of that statement, he continues quickly, running a gentle hand through her hair. “And don’t you think that your parents would want you to be safe, like you are here? Don’t you think it might even make them happy, if they knew that you finally had the chance to live a normal life, like any other girl your age?” Each question hits her like the painful jabs to her chi points that he used to deliver, before she had proved to him that she could behave. “It must have been terribly difficult for them, knowing what kind of danger you faced when you were in Republic City. Honestly,” Tarrlok pauses, considering it. “You’re safer with me than you ever were with Tenzin. You’ll never again be placed into a dangerous situation for the sake of fulfilling your duties as the Avatar, something that you never even asked for.”

Korra can’t even pretend to hold onto her composure any longer; she whirls away and stalks to the window, pressing her fingers to her aching temples. Everything hurts, and she feels so trapped. As much as he supposedly cares about her, it’s not enough to make him want what’s best for her, like you’re supposed to do for the people you love. And there goes her whole plan, slowly crumbling into nothing. 

_Except, no,_ she realizes belatedly, looking out of the window. As strange as it is, he really does think that this is what’s best for her.

Tarrlok comes to join her, then. He wraps an arm around her and pulls her close, kissing her softly on the forehead, and again, neither of them needs to say it out loud. He loves her - Korra, not _Avatar_ Korra, and he is perhaps the only person in the world besides her parents who really does. 

Ever since she had turned fifteen, Katara and her mother had started talking to her about relationships. They had told her that it was natural to have romantic feelings for others, and they wanted her to be happy - but they also wanted her to keep in mind that there were a lot of “unscrupulous” - that was the word they’d used - people out there who would want her just for the perks and prestige that came with being involved with the Avatar. That warning had always been there, lurking in the back of her mind, and it was…disconcerting, to say the least. And yes, this situation isn’t ideal, far from it - but there are no perks or privileges that come with being married to Senna, an anonymous and thoroughly average non-bender who makes just enough to get by. Not a single one. And yet, Tarrlok still loves her, he still wants her, and in the end, that means a lot to her. How can it not? And he doesn’t expect any great things from her. He doesn’t expect her to live up to any of her predecessors. He never tells her, _you’re nothing like Aang._ There are no conditions to his affection. He won’t care for her any less if she masters airbending or not, if she succeeds in making a lasting spiritual connection or not.

Korra stays still, unable to cope with the feelings coursing through her, as everything he had said to her replays in her mind over and over again, without mercy. After a few minutes, Tarrlok leaves her side, taking the newspaper from the coffee table. He crumples it in his hands, leaving the room, leaving her alone.

-

The sound of the front door opening and closing jolts Korra out of her sleep. 

She rubs her eyes tiredly and sits up straight, confused. Tarrlok is right beside her, and Sitka is curled up on the floor near the foot of their bed, so—

She realizes what it means a second too late, and her heart skips a beat. There’s somebody inside the house; somebody who’s not Tarrlok or Sitka. Korra pulls a flame to one of her palms for self-defense, shaking Tarrlok with her free hand, and she can actually hear footstepsin the hallway; the sound of heavy leather boots making the floorboards creak. “Wake up,” she whispers. “There’s someone in here.”

He stirs, looking up at her with the same confusion she had felt initially, and she puts her hand over his mouth, silently urging him to be quiet. Sitka stands up and moves toward the doorway, growling, her hackles raised. Before Korra can snap her fingers to call her back, the intruder steps into the room, as dark and quiet as a ghost. He is dressed all in black, a hood covering his face and throwing it into shadow, and before she can even move;throw herself out of the bed and attack, the man sends Sitka flying to the other side of the room with one cruel, sharp motion of his hand. She hits the wall with a sickening, bone-breaking thud and slides to the floor, a broken whimper escaping her throat, and Korra cries out, horrified - but the sound is cut off as an invisible hand, cold and vice-like, clutches her throat. Beside her, Tarrlok struggles against the grip, to no avail. 

Amon pushes the hood back almost lazily as he walks toward her, gripping her chin in his hands hard, forcing her to look up into that soulless mask. “I told you that I would save you for last,” he whispers. “It’s time.”

Korra wakes up - for real, this time - in a cold sweat, curled into a ball at the very edge of the mattress, shaking uncontrollably. Tarrlok rubs her shoulders, attempting to soothe her. “I’ve been trying to wake you for a while,” he says, voice a little hoarse from sleep. “It’s all right, sweetheart. It was just a nightmare.”

Korra shudders, hyper-aware of every sound - the rain outside, Sitka’s breathing, the claps of thunder that can easily mask the sound of a door or window being forced open - before lifting her head an inch off the pillow to confirm that Sitka is still lying at the foot of their bed, whole and well, sleeping peacefully. “I need the light,” she replies unsteadily, burying her face in the furs. Every shadow cast by the furniture makes her flinch. “Can you please turn on the light?”

Tarrlok sighs, still rubbing her shoulders. “The power went out a little while ago, probably because of the lightning.”

Korra moans into the furs, hating every second of this. As if tonight hadn’t been bad enough. “You know I’m afraid of the dark.” Another one of the many things she had never admitted to anybody beside him.

He leans over, kissing the top of her head, where her loose hair is damp with sweat, their argument earlier in the day apparently forgotten. “I know. But it’s going to be all right. It’ll pass. Do you want to talk about it?”

Korra shakes her head wordlessly, gritting her teeth, and fidgets, uncomfortable in the muggy heat without the fan to cool them. She sits up, kicking the furs aside, and fumbling at the laces tying together the front of her dress, her anxiety making her body temperature spike. Tarrlok moves her hands out of the way, undoing the laces with ease, his fingers cool against the flushed skin on her chest. He slips the dress off her shoulders, and she wriggles out of it entirely, throwing it to the floor with a bad-tempered huff and pressing the heel of her hand to her aching eyes, fighting the urge to cry. 

_I told you that would save you for last._

_It’s time._

Tarrlok runs his fingers through her damp hair, gathering the length of it into his hand and lifting it up off her neck and shoulders, trying to cool her down. She shudders again, overwhelmed, trying and failing to ward off the images and the fear. “He was here,” Korra finally says, her voice so ragged that she can’t believe it’s her own. “Amon. He found us, he broke in, he hurt Sitka when she tried to protect us. He did this thing where - he strangled us, and he grabbed me like he did on Memorial Island, and he was going to…”

She trails off, unable to keep going, and Tarrlok stares at her, worried. “What was he going to do? And how did he touch you on Memorial Island?”

"He grabbed my face and it hurt," Korra mumbles, putting her head in her hands. "My teeth bit into the inside of my cheeks and it bled a little. And - I don’t know. He was going to take my bending, or kill me, or both - he said he would _destroy_ me.”

Tarrlok rests a hand on her back, trying to comfort her, before he sighs again. “This is what I meant. You were doing so well for all these weeks - no nightmares, no panic attacks - and just talking about him earlier brought it all back. That’s why I can’t comprehend why you would even want to go back to Republic City, to a place where you’re in so much danger, when you’re clearly this frightened of him.”

"I told you, it’s my job, I’m the Avatar. And I’m in danger here," Korra snaps, closing her eyes against the memories. "I’m not safe here. He was _here,_ he found us—”

"It was just a dream," Tarrlok replies, with patience he had never possessed when he had been a councilman and not a schoolteacher. "The Order of the White Lotus couldn’t find us, and the Republic City Police couldn’t, with all of their massive, combined resources. What makes you think that Amon can?"

Korra shuts her eyes even tighter. She feels Tarrlok move close and kiss her cheek, and then her neck. “You have nothing to be scared about,” he tells her quietly, sliding a hand down over her back. “In the dark or not. I’ll protect you from the monsters.”

There was a time, in the not too distant past, that she had thought that he was one of them.

Korra leans against him, tilting her head up for a kiss, desperate for any comfort that will help loosen the knot of fear and pain inside her, and he complies with the request. “As long as you’re here,” Tarrlok promises her, easing her back down onto the pillows, caging her in with his arms, punctuating every few words with kisses to her face, neck, collarbone, lower. “You’re safe. From Amon, from the Equalists, from whoever the next enemy would have been, and the next, and the next, and so on and so forth. Not to mention the many assassins. Didn’t Avatar Aang face an average of five assassination attempts a year?”

This isn’t exactly what she likes talking about in bed, but she can’t help but answer the question. “Yeah. And that wasn’t counting the attacks on Master Katara and Sokka and all the rest of his close friends.”

Korra bites her lip, nauseated at the thought, and Tarrlok nods, taking it in. “And that was in less troubled times, even before there was ever any serious strife between benders and non-benders.” He places a hand on her heart, feeling it pound, his calm gaze meeting her distressed one. He sounds so in control, in contrast to how she feels. “It must be awful, to have so many people who hate you enough to want to destroy you, just by virtue of something that you had no choice over.” He kisses the space between her breasts tenderly. “It’s a stressful existence, being the Avatar, isn’t it?”

She squirms and stretches underneath his touch, unable to think straight enough to formulate words or a comeback, as Tarrlok nips at her earlobe. “I can’t see why anybody would want it,” he continues, his breathing only a little ragged. “I understand why Avatar Aang ran away. It’s such a terrible responsibility. You can’t really live a normal life, can you?”

"I tried," Korra protests breathlessly, "I was happy." But he ignores her, kissing her on the cheek instead, his loose hair forming a dark curtain around the both of them.

"All those years locked away in that compound, with only a polar bear-dog for company. It’s so sad. And then you came to Republic City, so happy and excited, only to be traumatized by your experiences with Amon at the Revelation, Memorial Island, and the pro-bending arena. There was so much fear and responsibility piled onto your shoulders in such a short time." His teeth graze her shoulder, at the soft place where it meets her neck.

Instead of making her feel better, this is just making her feel more twisted up and anxious inside, and Korra wraps her legs around him, trying to distract him from conversation. As much as she likes hearing his smooth voice at other times, this is not what she needs right now. She doesn’t want to revisit any of that. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she manages, forcing the words out around her tight throat.

"I’m sorry if it brought back any bad memories." Tarrlok runs his fingers through her hair again, taking her in one slow, smooth motion that drives all the breath out of her body in a ragged gasp. "I was just trying to make you feel better."

Korra squeezes her eyes shut again, digging her fingernails into his back, burying her head against his shoulder. “I just wanted to remind you that as long as you’re here, with me,” he says, a little shakily, gripping her hair and making her look into his eyes, “the most dangerous enemies you’ll ever have to face are rogue armadillo-bears in the woods, which you can easily scare off with your firebending.” He kisses her nose and caresses her cheekbone, and despite her soft gasp of hitched breath, he doesn’t lower her body temperature and cool her off like he normally does. There’s no respite from the heat; no relief to distract her from the words washing over her.

"You’ll never have to worry about you or anybody you love being targeted, hurt, or killed. You can live a long, happy, normal life. And when you think about it, you actually have more freedom here than you’ve ever had before." Tarrlok notices the grimace of pain on her face and loosens his grip on her hair, kissing her briefly in an attempt to soothe it. "On some level, honestly, isn’t that what you want?" he asks pointedly, pinning her with his stare. "Or would you rather return to the way things were in Republic City - when you were the Avatar, and you were supposed to be the city’s savior, the solution to all of the problems it faced, but you felt so terribly unprepared and incompetent? Did you _like_ how you felt there?”

Korra tries to stay silent, turning her head away from the cutting questions, wishing he would just be nice and sweet to her like he was most of the time - she had needed some comfort, not this - but he won’t let her. “No,” she finally chokes out, hating the way the admission feels in her mouth. “ _No,_ I didn’t.”

At this point, she isn’t even sure what she’s saying no to. Apparently it had been the right answer, though, because Tarrlok presses a soft kiss to her forehead. “Good girl,” he says, reverting back to the quiet, gentle tone she’s grown accustomed to. “And it must be a huge weight off your shoulders, not having to worry continuously about living up to Aang’s legacy, isn’t it? You never have to try to airbend again if you don’t want to. I know how stressed out you were about that.”

Korra nods despite herself, and he kisses her neck. “Don’t you like how you feel here? Safe, free, loved—”

His tone makes it clear that he expects an answer. “Yes,” she admits, and this makes her hate herself even more, because as is happening more and more lately, it’s not even a lie, not really. She senses a recurring theme here, and it frustrates and infuriates her so much that it makes it difficult to breathe and makes her want to set the curtains and the bed and the entire room on fire out of sheer rage. Fire, cleansing fire, to burn all of this away, every complication and problematic thought, and make her the girl she once was again.

Afterwards, Tarrlok falls asleep, his hand tangled in her hair, holding her close. Korra rests against his chest, curled up in a ball, and as emotionally exhausted - worn out to the bone - as she is, she stares up at the ceiling with reddened eyes for hours, lost in thought, until the rain finally stops. 

-

Korra never had much experience with depression, growing up. She had always been a happy, cheerful kid. The first time she had ever experienced significant amounts of worry, stress, sadness, uncertainty, and fear, had been in Republic City, after she had realized what a serious threat that Amon was. Even then, as frightened as she had been, despite the nightmares and panic attacks, she had never sunk into true depression. She just hadn’t let herself. There had been no time - there was the pro-bending tournament and airbending training to focus on, and later, after the devastating attack on the pro-bending arena and the Wolfbats, she had thrown all of her energy into catching the Equalists alongside her friends. 

Even after the trauma of Tarrlok forcing her to leave Republic City as his hostage, though Korra had raged, fought, worried, felt overwhelmed with hatred, frustration, and pure desperation, amidst all of that, there was no time for sadness. It only hit her during the times that she thought about her family, Tenzin’s family, and her friends, so she just avoided thinking about them, as a defense mechanism. From the beginning, no matter how bleak her circumstances had looked, she’d had hope. When one plan to regain her freedom failed, she dusted herself off and began plotting a new one, without missing a beat, without allowing herself to give in to the urge to stay in bed and not move and just wish and hope, with every fiber of her being, that things were different.

And then Tarrlok reached into her world, into her head, and messed it up. He turned it on its axis and rearranged the pieces and made her question things that she had never before questioned; made her feel things that she had never thought to feel. Everything that she had taken for granted, everything that she had unthinkingly accepted—

The first time Korra catches herself thinking that the opportunity of giving it all up to lead a normal life is tempting, and that maybe he had been right about everything after all, she starts crying out of pure fury at herself and as hard as she tries, she can’t bring herself to stop. More than five months of stress and conflict and despair beyond anything she had ever imagined herself enduring pour out, and Tarrlok starts to worry after the first few hours. He sits beside her on the floor and rubs her aching back, telling her that she doesn’t have to feel so guilty.

_I’m tired,_ Korra sobs. Tired of crying like a sniveling, pathetic mess; tired of fighting herself and feeling so torn all the time. Tired of hurting and confusion and trying to figure out what she wants and what is right. Tired of being the Avatar. Tired of being in her own skin. Tired of everything.

Tarrlok flinches when she says the last part. _It will pass,_ he tells her. _This will pass. Don’t say that._

It takes a couple of days for Korra to cry out all the tears in her body, until nothing is left but numbness. The thick, suffocating sadness doesn’t even start to ease for days after that, though. She can’t do anything more than lie on the bed with Sitka, and things like the need to go to work or shower just don’t even register anymore. Her head hurts terribly all the time, and for the first time in her life, she loses all desire to eat, and Tarrlok’s frustrated attempts to make her do so just distress her even more. As much as he wants to be there for her and console her, she can’t have him with her for any long stretch of time because it upsets her too much. Emi and Roumei come to visit her, bringing her favorite chocolate pastries from the bakery and looking worried, and she tells them something about missing her parents and being homesick. 

Her firebending and earthbending weakens and seems to fade, while her waterbending remains mostly the same. Korra sits back and watches the faint flickers of flame in her palm and feels nothing much at all. She has other ways to fight and be powerful. She can throw a mean punch that can knock a Tarrlok-sized person off their feet. She has daggers and hunting knives that she knows how to use. The art of bending had brought her a lot of joy, but being the Avatar had brought her a lot of pain. She had never been a good Avatar anyway - she would have never been one, not like Aang and the others. Too spiritually underdeveloped, too rash, hotheaded, thoughtless, stupid. Maybe it would have been better if she had been born a nonbender, or just a regular waterbender like her parents. Most likely, it had been some kind of sick error in fate, some kind of mixed signal.

It takes more than a week for Korra to even begin to recover from the breakdown, if that was what it had been. As the days pass, slowly, over time, all that hurt and pain is replaced by a strange sense of calm, a muting of all feeling whatsoever, an acceptance. She takes small steps, at first. She gets out of bed and takes a shower, combs her hair, and takes Sitka for a walk - the first time she’s been outside in several days. She starts eating three times a day, and of her own accord. One day, she goes to work for the first time in a long time, and when Tarrlok steps out of the school building to find her waiting for him, bow and arrow slung across her back and her trusty hunting partner Sitka at her side, he smiles and pulls her into his arms. “You’re up,” he says, with no small amount of surprise. “How are you feeling?”

"Fine," Korra replies, stretching up on her tiptoes to press a kiss against his cheek. "It’s really nice outside now that it’s started to warm up, isn’t it? All the flowers are blooming in the woods, and Sitka and I went swimming in the lake."

"It is," Tarrlok agrees. "It’s nice to get a break from the cold and the rain."

"Do you want to go on a picnic tomorrow? We can take Sitka and make it a day trip."

The suggestion obviously makes him happy, and they go on their picnic. The three of them find a patch of wild strawberries and eat them until they all feel a little sick. Sitka plays with the local rabbit-squirrels and then dozes amongst the dandelions, and when Tarrlok falls asleep in Korra’s lap after lunch, she weaves him a beautiful crown of wildflowers and places it on his head. Right there in their quiet corner of the meadow, underneath the gentle spring sunshine, she can’t imagine walking back into a world of so much darkness and danger, where she is a target, and her enemies would do their best to make sure she would never experience a day like this ever again.

-

There is a setback, a week later. Korra wakes up, listens to Tarrlok making breakfast in the kitchen, and gets ready for the day. She breaks down in tears halfway through braiding her hair and gives up on it entirely, throwing the purple ribbons across the room in a childish fit of temper and turning away, unable to look at the mirror for another instant.

She dries her eyes and calms down by the time Tarrlok steps inside, but she still can’t bring herself to finish the style. She gives him a wan, halfhearted smile, and he places his hands on her waist and leans close, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Korra turns, leaning into his embrace and wrapping her arms around him. “Thanks,” she mumbles back, all of her thoughts more than a hundred miles away. At the South Pole, in the small igloo, with her mom and dad. This is the first birthday she has ever spent away from them. She still remembers the letters she had sent them, shortly after arriving in Republic City; her handwriting a barely legible scribble thanks to her overwhelming excitement. _You have to come visit for my birthday! They have so many food places here, from all around the world, and we can go to one of the new jazz clubs!  It’ll be springtime, so the cherry blossom trees all over the city park will be blooming, and it’s supposed to be the most beautiful time of year there is. Pema and Tenzin told me that it’s all lit up at night with hundreds and hundreds of lights that look like fireflies, and there are fireworks and everything. You’ll love it. We’ll have so much fun!_

She wonders what her parents are doing today. They’re not just without her, knowing that she is safe and sound somewhere else and celebrating her birthday with the airbender family - they’ll be worrying. Thinking about her, their only child, missing for the past almost six months; vanished into thin air. Wondering where she is, if she’s safe, what kind of condition she’s in. If she’s okay. If she’s even alive. Where they had always celebrated, baking cakes and making elaborate traditional Water Tribe dinners, taking her out to see the beautiful southern lights that lit up the night sky and always arrived around her birthday, they will be mourning, today. There will be no cake or fancy dinner; no broad smiles and laughter and hugs strong enough to sweep someone off the floor. No birthday hat for Naga, who had always enjoyed scarfing down large amounts of cake, while showering Korra with affectionate licks. And for what feels like the millionth time, Korra wonders where Naga is. She had always hoped that somebody had found her and the Order of the White Lotus had escorted her back to the South Pole, so that she could be near her parents - Tonraq and Senna loved her just as much as Korra did, and they would always take care of her - and find a mate to help her cope with her loneliness. Still, wherever Naga is, it’s not _here,_ like she wants. Just like her parents.

_Bring them to me,_ she wants to ask Tarrlok. _If you can just find a way to bring them to me—_

Tarrlok stays quiet for a while, rubbing her back, not even needing to ask what’s going through her mind. “Let me take you out for dinner tonight,” he says at last, pulling back and tilting her head up to him. Korra’s first instinct is to refuse, but the hopeful expression in his eyes when he looks at her makes her hesitate. He’s trying, he really is, and that takes away some of the bitterness. She is reminded, again, that this is something neither of them had wanted. “Please?”

"Well," she replies dryly, stepping away and beginning to re-braid her hair in her mother’s style, determined to keep her composure this time. "Since you’re asking nicely…"

Tarrlok grins, the expression lighting up his normally serious face and making him look much younger, before kissing her. “Can you be back by six, then?”

"Why do I need to be back by six if we’re just going out to dinner?" Korra asks, pouting suspiciously.

Tarrlok smirks, wrapping an arm around her waist and guiding her out of the room. “I didn’t say where we were going out to dinner, now, did I?”

To her chagrin, he refuses to disclose any further details, as he gives her some buttered seaweed bread, lychee juice, and another kiss, before sending her out the door and on her way with her waiting friends. The three of them had planned the day trip to Lu-Shulin, one of the neighboring cities, a month ago, when Emi had heard that a moving picture theater had opened there. Korra knew they had them in Republic City, but as much as she wanted to, she’d never had the chance to actually go and see one - something had always come up. Neither had Emi and Roumei, who had spent their entire lives in this small town, so Korra thought it was the perfect choice for a birthday activity.

"So, how are we doing this?" she asks curiously, after they split up from their group hug and begin making their way east, in the direction of Roumei’s house. "Are we still borrowing Haruka’s ostrich-horses, or…?"

Roumei beams, pulling out an old bronze key from the pocket of her dress. “Nope. I talked to Zhen, and he talked to the onion merchant, and he agreed to lend us—”

"The cabbage car?" Korra interrupts, stunned. "No way!" The onion merchant was one of the two or three people in the whole town who owned some form of automobile. It was an absolutely ancient Cabbage Car, manufactured by Cabbage Corp more than forty-five years ago. It was a far cry from the modern vehicles she had seen in Republic City - but still, it was a vast improvement over walking or traveling by boat or ostrich-horse. 

Roumei nods, pleased. “It’s old and all three of us are going to have to squish in the front, but it works! I think we should get there in an hour, which means we’ll have time for the moving picture and lunch, and we can even stop by the shopping district if you want, Senna.”

Emi squeals, jumping up and down out of sheer excitement. “I’ve never been in a car before! This is going to be so much fun! But wait…” she stops, blinking at Roumei in confusion. “You don’t know how to drive either. And neither do you, Senna, right?”

Korra and Roumei exchange clueless glances, before shrugging. “How hard can it be, right?” Roumei asks. “I’m sure we can all figure it out somehow.” She tosses the key to Korra with a mischievous smile. “Do you want to try it first, birthday girl?”

A wide grin spreads over Korra’s face as she catches sight of the battered Cabbage Car parked in the front of Roumei’s house, and her spirits begin to lift ever so slightly, thanks to the company of her friends and the prospect of a day full of new adventures. “Of course! Let’s do this!”

-

It takes them an hour to make it to the city; an hour that is filled with alternating screams of terror and exhilarated laughing as Korra, Emi, and Roumei all learn how to drive. Korra narrowly avoids crashing the car into a tree and driving it off the road, Emi almost runs over a traveling fruit merchant while accidentally driving on the wrong side of the road, and Roumei nearly gets all of them killed while trying to figure out the traffic rules once they enter the city, but other than those minor setbacks, the trip is a success. All three of them agree that the moving picture is the coolest thing they have ever seen, and the trip to the shopping district leaves them loaded with little handmade trinkets from around the world. Overall, by the time they get back home (after slightly a fewer amount of life-threatening moments on the road), Korra is confidently able to say that it had been one of the best days ever, with two of the nicest people she’s ever met. 

( _Two more people who like her and think she’s fun to spend time with, and worthy of friendship and attention, even though she’s not the Avatar.)_

She makes her way back into the house a little before six, weighed down by her bag of purchases and the gifts that Emi and Roumei had given her. Sitka greets her at the door, wagging her tail at rapid speeds and sniffing her excitedly, and she finds Tarrlok in their bedroom, spraying something extra delicious-smelling on his neck and wrists and looking into the mirror rather anxiously, straightening the fur trim on his new shirt. Korra grins, coming into the room and depositing her stuff on the bed, before making her way over to him and running a finger down his spine teasingly. “Well hello there, hot stuff.”

Tarrlok raises an eyebrow at her, obviously torn between skepticism and being flattered. “How was your outing?”

"Great! Moving pictures are just as awesome as I thought they would be! I still like the radio dramas though, they’re more suspenseful." Korra pulls a fresh dress out of the closet unceremoniously, shaking it out. It’s Water Tribe royal blue to match his outfit, lined with silver-gray fox fur. "…Are you really bringing your bag?" she asks, making a face.

"We’ll be staying overnight," Tarrlok replies smugly. "Don’t worry, I packed your things for you."

"Overnight?" she asks, scowling at him indignantly, while Sitka whines as if in protest. "You didn’t tell me we were leaving town."

That earns her another purposefully condescending smirk. “That’s why it’s called a surprise, sweetheart.”

Korra pulls off her old dress and throws it at Tarrlok to muffle the sound of his voice. Deep inside, she feels a pang of shame at the excitement and anticipation that runs through her. He is the reason that she isn’t spending today with her family and the rest of her friends and loved ones…and yet, he’s still so much more. He had gone to the trouble of planning this entire thing, and nobody has ever surprised her like this before. She’s never even had this kind of freedom in the past, to just drive off somewhere and spend the day with a couple of friends, and then go out at night with somebody, without the Order of the White Lotus either tailing her in “secret” or forbidding her to go. They hadn’t even liked it when her dad had taken her on hunting trips for her sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays. _It’s not safe,_ they’d protested. _We can’t risk the Avatar’s well-being!_

_It’s an ancient Water Tribe tradition! And you never let me have any fun!_ She had yelled back, blasting flames in her fury. _I hate this, I can’t wait until I’ll be able to get out of here—_

Korra can’t help the bitter little smirk that twists her lips as she wonders what they would think of her little driving adventure today with her friends; of the several close calls that would have given them minor heart attacks. After a few minutes of splashing on lotion and perfume, girly indulgences that she had never given much thought to in the past, and styling her hair with the whalebone ornaments that Tarrlok had given her, they leave, giving Sitka lots of pets and kisses to tide her over during their absence.

They make their way over to the harbor hand in hand, Tarrlok determinedly ignoring all of her guesses and questions about where they’re going and what they’re going to do there. It’s only when they reach one of the passenger motorboats, meeting up with another group of people - older married couples - who share their destination that Korra learns that they’re going to the coastal city of Hai-Guang.

"Hai-Guang," Korra muses, stepping onto the boat and going to stand near the railing, toward the back. "What’s in Hai-Guang?"

"Purple platypus-bears," Tarrlok deadpans, wrapping an arm around her, as the owner of the boat starts the motor. "We’re going to ride them."

She prods him in the ribs. “Very funny.”

The sun begins to set, and the moon starts to rise, a beautiful silver crescent. Korra tilts her head up to it, the same moon that shines down over the South Pole, feeling the cool sea breeze ruffle her hair. _Please tell them that I’m all right, Yue,_ she thinks, reaching out with every fiber of her being, despite her overall lack of spiritual connection. _Tell them that I’m safe and I’m happy, tell them not to worry._

By the time they get to the city, it’s dark and all lit up for the night, even prettier than Republic City at nighttime. To Korra’s surprise, Tarrlok leads her away from the polished city center and toward a seedier part of town. It’s the kind of place he normally avoids and tells her to stay away from, before telling her gruesome stories about the activities of various triads and gangs. “We’re looking for the Hualing poultry warehouse,” he says, squinting at the signs of every building they pass. “Keep an eye out. It shouldn’t be far now.” 

"A poultry warehouse," Korra echoes doubtfully, craning her neck to glance down a dark alley. "You have an interesting idea of what defines a hot date."

"Wait and see," he replies patiently.

They run into the warehouse less than half a mile after passing a drunken brawl involving no less than ten people. The building is massive, but it looks derelict and broken down, with every window boarded up. The front doors are open, though, and through the shadows, Korra can see the dim orange glow of an oil lantern. She tilts her head, her interest piqued, and pulls Tarrlok forward, past the splintering doorway. Just beyond it is an equally battered wooden desk, manned only by an immensely large man, one eye covered by a patch, tattoos blanketing both of his arms from shoulders to wrists. “You here for the show?” he rasps, looking both of them up and down.

Tarrlok nods, pulling out a handful of money and placing it into the man’s outstretched hand. “Steps are behind me and to the right,” he tells them, grinning, revealing several golden teeth. “Enjoy.”

As they descend the steps, Korra has a rather unpleasant flashback to the night she and her friends had discovered the Equalist base and hidden weaponry underneath Hiroshi Sato’s warehouse, and the nightmarish showdown with the mecha-tanks that had followed. That fades, thankfully, the moment that they reach the end of the staircase.

Korra stops dead, her jaw dropping out of pure astonishment, her eyes widening. “ _Wow._ ”

They’re in the brightly lit basement of the warehouse, although it’s been converted to look a little like the pro-bending arena in Republic City. There’s a roped-off ring, sunken in the center of the huge room, and all around the ring, there are rows of seating just like the pro-bending arena. The room is packed tight, hundreds of people crammed into the space, squished into the seats like sardines, and the air seems to vibrate with the sound of people talking and yelling back and forth to each other, cheering, arguing, taking bets, waving handmade signs with what look like team names written on them. _The Crusher, The Terminator, The Terrible Tiger-Wolf, The Invincible Impala-Leopard…_

Korra stares, taking it all in, fascinated beyond belief, as Tarrlok finds them seats that are both close to the ring, but a safe distance away from the drunk university students pouring liquor over one another and getting into a screaming match with supporters of _The Terminator._ "What _is_ this?” she asks, looking around, riveted by all of it. It brings back good memories; it feels like coming home. “Is this pro-bending? How did you know about this?”

Tarrlok shakes his head, looking slightly overwhelmed by the noise. “It’s called boxing - it’s a popular new sport for non-benders, apparently. One of my students’ older brothers used to do this. Essentially, two people pummel one another with their fists, with the goal of knocking their opponent out. I thought you would enjoy it.”

"It sounds awesome!" Korra yells, grabbing a discarded handmade sign for _The Terrible Tiger-Wolf_ off the floor and waving it enthusiastically, howling for effect. It earns her high-fives from the group of old men sitting behind them. 

"Your wife has good taste," one of them tells Tarrlok approvingly, handing him a sign. 

Tarrlok stares at it as if unsure of what to do with it. “Yes,” he says, with a smile. “She does.”

The first match starts a few minutes later, and it turns out to be even better than how Tarrlok had described it. Despite the lack of bending, the close contact and hand-to-hand combat means that it’s even more intense than pro-bending was, and Korra finds herself alternately biting her nails and clutching her face, yelling, jumping up and down, screaming, hollering threats at the referee, and on the verge of tears and fainting. Each round is better than the previous one, and each matchis better than the previous one, and by the end of the night, when the Terrible Tiger-Wolf (who turns out to be Yachiko, the grandson of one of the old men sitting behind them), is crowned the champion, Korra almost wants to cry out of sheer happiness and exhilaration. She wins fifty silver pieces in a bet with the guy sitting in the row in front of them, who had clung onto the delusion that The Crusher could actually beat the Terrible Tiger-Wolf, and after the match, she and Tarrlok get to shake Yachiko’s hand and he actually gives her his tattered red sweatband, which Korra immediately slides onto the wrist that isn’t covered by her cat-gator tooth bracelet.

"I never want to leave this place," Korra tells Tarrlok, forlorn, staying put in her seat as the warehouse workers begin to usher everybody out. "I want to stay here. I want to watch _all_ the matches.”

Tarrlok shakes his head, amused, leaning over and kissing the top of her head. “Is this like when you wanted to jump into the ring to box against the impala-leopard when it looked like The Crusher wouldn’t be able to begin the match?”

Korra pouts. She could have totally held her own against the Impala-Leopard. She would probably kick ass at boxing. “Maybe.”

"Someday," Tarrlok tells her, straight-faced. "If you’re going to be a professional boxer in the future, you need to keep your strength up. Let’s get something to eat."

They wander out of the warehouse, sighing in relief at the cool air, and after taking a few fairly frightening wrong turns, they make their way over to the nicer part of town. Choosing a restaurant is hard, because there are so many options and each one of them makes her salivate while her eyes glaze over with desire. Korra finally decides on a Fire Nation place, small and intimate and decorated entirely in the sumptuous, elegant shades of crimson, gold, and black that she loves. After a delicious meal of fire noodles and the best roast duck she’s ever tasted, she snuggles against Tarrlok’s shoulder as he finishes his komodo chicken, sleepy and thoroughly content. It’s late and her eyes feel heavy, after the long, exhausting, and eventful day, so filled with new experiences, and the jasmine and sandalwood incense they’re burning in the restaurant just makes her even drowsier. 

"Where are we staying tonight?" she asks, fighting back a yawn, while leaning forward and taking a bite of the chicken he offers her. 

"Somewhere nice," Tarrlok replies evasively, sliding his plate back and leaving the money for their dinner on the edge of the carved and lacquered redwood table. He rests a hand on her shoulder blade, rubbing small, soothing circles against the fabric of her dress with his thumb. "I was thinking we could go on a little scenic walk on our way, though."

Right now, a warm, soft bed sounds more tempting, but Korra shrugs, figuring that they’re going to end up there eventually. The city streets have started to empty at this late hour, and it doesn’t take long for them to find their way over to a beautifully lit up walking path. The trees aren’t cherry blossom like in Republic City, but flowering dogwood, laden with white and pink flowers. It’s quiet and soothing, one of the most beautiful places she’s ever been, and as tired as she is, Korra sighs regretfully when they finally hit the end of the path. She rests her hands on the railing, looking out over the ocean beneath them, the moon and stars reflected in the rippling, dark surface like a mirror image. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asks happily, her gaze following a stray blossom that had been blown into the water, dancing on the surface of the sea.

Tarrlok nods, moving his hand to cover hers. “Just like you are.”

Korra rolls her eyes and pushes him several feet away, with a huff of exasperation. “Way to ruin the moment with way too much cheesiness, pal. Good job.”

Tarrlok shakes his head and sighs, before making his way back to her. This time, when he takes her hands in both of his, she looks away from the ocean and up at him, at the wind ruffling his hair and the expression on his face. He’s so different from the councilman she had loathed back in Republic City. Then again, this experience has changed both of them; she knows that all too well.

"I have something for you," he says, a bit awkwardly. "It’s small, not much, but—"

"You didn’t have to get me anything," Korra protests, taking a step back. "This has been great - the trip and the boxing and the food and everything - and I have way too much stuff that you’ve given me anyway, we’re running out of room for it in our bedroom, and…"

Her voice and the corresponding train of thought dies, when Tarrlok pulls the necklace out of his pocket, and gently places it in her hand.

Korra stares down at it, stunned, and she blinks a few times to confirm that it is what she thinks it is. It’s a Northern Water Tribe betrothal necklace, like the one she’s been wearing around her neck for so long. This one is set in midnight blue ribbon of the finest silk, shot through with silver threads, and the stone is a brilliant, multifaceted aqua, the color of the sea. The carving is intricately done and so perfect that she can’t believe it was actually handmade. It must have taken hours of careful work.

"I thought that it would be appropriate for you to have one of your own," Tarrlok says quietly.

Korra reaches up, still in shock, absentmindedly touching the purple necklace around her neck - the one that Yakone had given to Tarrlok’s mother, and the skin on her fingers crawls at the reminder. She still remembers the day Tarrlok had ordered her to wear it, and her fury and revulsion at the prospect and everything it implied. It seems like it had happened in another life entirely. On that day, the necklace had been nothing more than a prop, essentially, for their cover story; upon giving it to her, Tarrlok had looked just as unhappy about it as she felt. This seems to be something else entirely, even though they - Taruq and Senna, at least - are already married. 

"I know the circumstances of this have been unconventional," Tarrlok continues, once again displaying his remarkable penchant for understatement, his eyes never leaving the necklace and her hand. "But I like to think that I’ve made you reasonably happy for the past few months. I promise that I can do that, for all the years to come."

Korra’s lips part, but the words stick in her throat, because she’s so unsure of which ones she wants to let out. _I love you too. I can’t do this. Yes, I want to do this. I don’t know what to say. I’m tired of fighting this._

She settles with standing on the tips of her toes and kissing him on the lips, before undoing the knot around her neck with her free hand, pulling the necklace off and returning it to him. Tarrlok looks down at it, the last keepsake of his mother, sorrow etched onto his face, before he slips it into his pocket. Korra slides her hair over one shoulder, and he smooths a hand through it, listening to the soft clink of the whalebone ornaments. 

"Shall I?" he asks, touching the necklace lightly.

Korra shakes her head. “No, I want to do it.” 

She ties it on, the cool stone coming to rest against the hollow of her throat, and her heart feels like it’s so full that it’s going to burst.

Tarrlok kisses her, one of the longest, sweetest kisses they’ve shared since their first, and when they finally pull apart, Korra gives his ponytail a light, playful tug. “Let’s get out of here,” she suggests softly, and they turn and make their way back to the city, hand in hand.

-

_to be continued_

-

One note that I feel like it’s important to make at this point in the fic is that this is _not_ intended to be a depiction of a normal and healthy relationship. In this chapter in particular, Tarrlok manipulates Korra and really messes with her head in order to try and get the emotional response that he wants, playing on a lot of deep emotions, issues, uncertainties, and insecurities that she doesn’t even know she has. And because she trusts him, she doesn’t even question it. 

 


	9. Part Nine

**Note: The end of this chapter holds a trigger warning for discussion of self-harm. Please don’t read the end if this will upset you. I don’t want anybody to feel hurt or experience unpleasant memories.**

-

Sometimes, Korra feels a little ambitious. 

Sometimes, she thinks that she can actually hunt and bring down a full-grown deer-rabbit. Normally, when this impulse kicks in, she shakes her head and stifles the urge with some difficulty, telling herself to be content with small and medium-sized game. This isn’t a Water Tribe leopard-seal season; she doesn’t have anything to prove to any other hunters. But she wants to try it anyway, just so that she can say that she is capable of hunting large game. Her dad was a pro at it; he had taken down a polar leopard, for the spirits’ sake. Her grandfather had been just as good, and his father before him. Hunting greatness runs in her family.

She tells Sitka to be very quiet and shows her some bushes that she can hide behind. Then she climbs a tree, and points her bow and arrow at the deer-rabbit grazing down in the meadow, focusing intently on her target. Korra pulls the bow harder, and harder, getting ready to strike, and then—

Something pulls in her shoulder blade. _Painfully._

She misfires, and falls out of the tree with a yelp of horror and dismay.

It’s not a long drop, thankfully, and it’s cushioned by the foliage of several branches. Korra lands mostly on her arms and knees, which is painful but not permanently damaging, and then she groans at the spasm the impact sends through her aching right shoulder blade, collapsing facefirst onto the ground.

She tries to reach over and heal herself, but her hand can’t make proper contact with the pulled muscle. It’s a failure of human design, that most people can’t touch most of their whole back easily. Korra groans again, halfheartedly kicking her legs against the ground. “Kill me now, please.”

Sitka makes her way out of the bushes, looking at her in a concerned manner, and then licks her face. 

"Go on," Korra says, pointing. "Your mouth is _this_ close to my neck.”

Sitka barks once and runs around in a circle, wagging her tail.

"I’ll take that as a no, then." Korra stands up, wincing, as she gathers her bow and arrows and her bag of today’s already-caught prey, moving gingerly in an attempt to prevent more pain from lancing through her shoulder and shoulder blade. She talks to Sitka as they make their way back to town, as she got into the habit of doing with Naga, ever since she had been a little girl.

"So clearly, my back is permanently damaged." Korra leaps over the stream, balancing on a rock with one foot, before hopping to the ground. "You would think that would force me to abandon my dream of becoming the first ever professional female boxer, right? _Wrong._ I will fight through the pain and prevail.” She squints thoughtfully into the distance. “…I still don’t know what my ring name should be, though.”

Korra sighs happily at the memory of that night, content despite her aching shoulder and general soreness after the fall. She and Tarrlok had returned from their trip just over a week ago. She remembers standing near the rail of the ship on their way back, admiring the way the setting sun looked against the ocean, and trying to catch glimpses of dolphin-eagles off in the distance. Tarrlok had wrapped his arms around her from behind, holding her close in an affectionate hug. _Was it a good birthday?_ he asked quietly.

She twisted around, stretching up to kiss him on the lips. _Yes,_ she said, and it had been the truth.

Korra touches her necklace self-consciously as they enter the familiar atmosphere of the town again. Something subtle and intangible had shifted between them since the night Tarrlok had - well…proposed? They don’t treat each other any differently, but it just feels different. Like this is the real thing, rather than just a twisted arrangement with both of them trying to make the best of their warped situation by taking comfort in one another. _This is how I wanted it to be,_ he said later that night, kissing her tenderly. _Before I hurt…before everything that happened in City Hall._

Korra’s lips twist at the memory, and she forces herself to push it aside as she enters the butcher’s shop. Kamlai, the butcher’s wife, is working this shift, and she waves at her and Sitka as they come in.

"I have one hog and a pygmy bull pig," Korra announces, slinging her bag onto the counter and excavating her game from it. "I tried to bring down a deer-rabbit, but that didn’t work so well."

Kamlai laughs, inspecting the hog and the pig. “Those things weigh as much as you do, you wouldn’t be able to carry it back in one piece. Stick to medium game, you do that perfectly.”

Korra pats her injured shoulder ruefully. “I think I will. Do you need any help skinning and cleaning them?”

"Not today, Lanh’s going to come by in a few minutes. Thank you, though. And by the way, that’s a lovely new necklace you have, dear," Kamlai says, smiling at her, counting out her fee and sliding it over to her. "The color suits your eyes."

Korra blushes slightly as she puts the money in her pocket, before reaching up to brush her fingers against the stone; wincing at the way it pulls at the muscles in her shoulder blade. “Thanks. Taruq made it for me as a birthday gift.”

"It’s beautifully done. I remember when Niran would take the time to do things like that for me." Kamlai sighs ruefully, wrapping up some pork-poultry and sticking it in the freezer. "You’re a lucky girl, Senna. Enjoy it."

Korra smiles - _if only you knew -_ and leans down to pet Sitka. “I am. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, Kamlai. Have a good day!”

Kamlai waves to her, tossing a bone across the counter to Sitka, and the two of them leave the small shop, breathing in the fresh air, a nice change from the overwhelming meat smell inside the shop. Korra leads them home, Sitka trotting at her side. It’s nice, having her as a hunting partner. She takes down small game by herself, making her job much easier, and she likes having a friend to spend the long hours in the woods and meadows with. It had been sweet of Tarrlok to find Sitka for her. He does a lot of nice things for her, honestly, trying to make her feel comfortable and at home. And the thing is, it had worked. When she thinks of home, now, she thinks of the South Pole and Republic City _and_ the small home that she and Tarrlok share; the safe place that is uniquely their own. 

She sighs softly, reaching up to rub her aching shoulder with one hand, while trying to unlock the door with the other. Sitka shoves the door all the way open with her nose and bounds inside the house, excited because Tarrlok is already home. Korra follows more slowly, kicking her boots off and heading toward the bedroom.

"Korra?" Tarrlok calls, from the down the hall. 

She rolls her eyes, even though he can’t see her. “No, Nini the Water Tribe ghost, here to feast upon your soul,” she replies sarcastically, tossing her bow and arrows into the corner of the room as soon as she steps inside.

Tarrlok grimaces at the way a few of her arrows fall out of the quiver and spill over the floor, as he removes his jacket and hangs it up inside the closet, before holding a hand out to her. “How was your hunt?”

"Not great," Korra replies glumly, taking his hand and standing on the tips of her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "I did something weird with my bow and arrow and pulled the muscles in my shoulder blade. My hand can’t reach over to heal it properly, see?" She looks at him over her shoulder and pouts, before an idea suddenly occurs to her. "Hey, can you use bloodbending to make it better? Like how you do when I have headaches?"

Tarrlok frowns, touching the area lightly, prompting a sharp hiss of pain. “I don’t like using bloodbending on muscles, and it will probably hurt you too. However,” - he smooths his fingers through her wind-tangled hair - “we can try getting rid of it the traditional way. A hot bath should relax the strained area. Do you want me to get one started?”

"Sure." Korra reaches up with her good hand, running it over his shoulders and the back of his neck. "You feel a little stiff too. It’ll be good for both of us."

Tarrlok leans down and kisses her on the forehead. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes, then.”

He goes to the bathroom to get everything started, while Korra picks up her arrows and then wanders into the kitchen for a drink of water, before icing her back for a few minutes. When she returns to the bathroom, she finds the air almost completely obscured by steam and overwhelmingly fragrant. “You didn’t use any of the peppermint oil, did you?” she asks suspiciously, hanging back. “You know I don’t like feeling like I’m taking a bath in toothpaste.”

Tarrlok sighs, from in the direction of the bath. He happens to like peppermint oil, for some unfathomable reason. “No, it’s just lavender, so it’s safe to come inside, Princess Korra.”

Korra makes a face, before stripping off her clothes and joining him in the bath, which is just big enough for the two of them. The water is slick with the lavender oil she likes and almost painfully hot, but it feels good against the spasming muscles in her shoulder blade, and all the breath leaves her body in a contented sigh as she settles beside him. Normally, on the occasion that they take baths together, she likes to shampoo Tarrlok’s long hair until it’s a mess of foamy suds, scraping her fingernails against his scalp until he glowers at her and complains. Then she dunks him violently under the water until his hair rinses clean, in sharp contrast to the careful, sedate (boring) way he washes her hair. Today, though, she can’t lift her arms easily because of the muscle strain, so she settles with snuggling against Tarrlok while he tells her a story about how a violent all-out brawl broke out on the playground today over which student would be allowed to take the class pet - a toad-lizard named Spot - home the next week.

"Jatu really knocked out Rak’s front teeth?" Korra asks disbelievingly. "But doesn’t he weigh like fifty pounds? His arms are _noodles_.”

Tarrlok sighs, taking one of the bottles of massage oil from the shelf mounted against the wall. “Yes, just before I could get to them in time. I was distracted because two of the other children were telling me a story about the kitten they found in the alley behind their house. You don’t know how hard it was for me to restrain the impulse to pull Jatu and Rak away from each other at a distance with waterbending ropes - in any case, I’m going to have a talk with their parents after school tomorrow. Their fighting set a terrible example for the other children, and this should never happen again.”

He starts massaging the oil into her shoulder blade then, his strong hands and long fingers expertly kneading the pain away. The words that had been about to come out of her mouth melt, somewhere along the way, into a moan of relief.  Tarrlok keeps rubbing her back, and all the breath leaves Korra’s body in a long sigh as she leans against his chest, closing her eyes in pure contentment. 

"Be careful tomorrow," she mumbles. "Jatu’s dad is pretty scary. You remember when Emi and Lanh told us about the time they had a run-in with him at the restaurant, right?"

"Don’t worry about me," Tarrlok replies, sounding both amused and flattered by her concern. "Just relax."

The exhausting day, combined with the heat of the water, the fragrance of the oil, and the steady, soothing pressure of his hands on her skin take their toll, and the last thought that crosses her mind is how much better her back feels already.

Korra opens her eyes again at the sensation of a warm, sultry, jasmine-scented summer breeze stirring her hair, because that’s wrong, that can’t be happening, it feels so different from the spring breezes that rustle the leaves on the trees in the town where she and Tarrlok live. And when she opens her eyes, she freezes, because she isn’t even in the bath anymore. She’s standing in the outdoor entrance hall to a magnificent mansion, more grand than anything she has ever seen before. It’s the definition of opulence, from the cream marble floors to the ornately carved dark redwood doors - and from the red and gold decor and the weather, and the tropical trees and flowering plants that surround the entrance hall…

Korra tilts her head, listening hard, before turning to her right. She hears the ocean, the familiar, reassuring sound of waves crashing into the sand, and she can actually see the beach from here. “I’m in the Fire Nation, right?” she asks herself quietly, hardly able to believe it. It looks like Ember Island, the place that Master Katara had told her about. That would make sense; she’s dressed again - thankfully - in a Fire Nation-style red dress that leaves her midriff bare, with heavy gold bracelets and armbands around her wrists and upper arms. Korra stares, taking it in, stunned, and she opens her fist, trying to make a small flame blossom in her palm.

Nothing happens, no matter how hard she tries, and her suspicions are confirmed. She’s in the Spirit World again, even though this place couldn’t be more different from the meadow that she had materialized in last time. She had tried to make the connection to the Spirit World during meditation for months, ever since the last time she had seen Aang - but after the repeated failures, she had been forced to conclude that her lack of spiritual development made it so that she couldn’t make the journey to the Spirit World unless one of her past lives wanted her there. So Korra tilts her head back, craning her neck and shielding her eyes with her hands as she searches the gold-violet sunset skies for any sign of Appa, but she can’t see him anywhere. Finally, she turns back to the open double doors in front of her, staring inside curiously. There’s no wariness inside her. Actually, there’s a little bit of a magnetic pull. Even though she’s never laid eyes on this place before, it feels like home.

Korra steps inside, glancing around at her surroundings, her gaze gravitating to the massive, spectacular crystal chandelier hanging above her. She stares for a few seconds, aware of the fact that it must be worth more money than her parents had ever possessed, and when she looks back down, there’s someone in front of her.

She reacts to this surprise as gracefully as she reacts to most other surprises - jumping backwards with a yelp of shock, stumbling in her unfamiliar sandals and nearly tripping on the hem of her dress; narrowly avoiding landing flat on her back on the floor, before settling into a defensive fighting position. The woman in front of her just laughs, reaching a non-threatening hand out to her. “Welcome to my home, Korra. I hope you’ll think of it as your own.”

Korra looks at the woman cautiously, reaching out and returning the grip. Her first, instinctive question is _how did you know my name,_ closely followed by _who are you,_ but the second she looks at her - really looks at her - those questions fade, only to be replaced by a sense of unmistakable familiarity. She recognizes her from ancient portraits in her history books, and she’s pretty unmistakable, by virtue of the fact that she is probably the most beautiful woman that Korra has ever seen. The portraits really didn’t do her justice.

"Avatar Rei," she says, startled, letting go suddenly and sinking into a deep bow. Well, this had been the last thing she had been expecting. She feels painfully self-conscious all of a sudden, remembering what Aang had told her about Rei the last time they had met; about the horrific circumstances under which she had unlocked the Avatar State for the first time. She had felt it so keenly in that instant, the smallest echo of the horror and pain her past life had gone through. "It is such an honor to meet you," she continues, with feeling.

Rei places a hand on Korra’s shoulder, gently guiding her upright. Her palm feels warm and solid and disconcertingly real, considering the fact that she has been dead for more than four hundred years. “The honor is mine. I’m so glad that you could join me for tea today.” 

Rei leads her to a sitting room, where two steaming cups of plum tea sit on the lacquered table, beside a jade teapot and two plates of coconut cookies. The breeze from the open window stirs the cream chiffon curtains. Korra takes a seat on one of the sofas, gratefully accepting the refreshments, and she is surprised to learn that it is actually possible to eat and drink in the Spirit World. Everything seems to taste better here, actually, and avoiding the temptation to cram three cookies into her mouth at the same time is a struggle. 

"You have a beautiful home," Korra says, trying to be polite - just barely remembering to not talk with her mouth full - as Rei sips her tea. For the first time, she takes a moment to wonder what she’s doing in this beautiful home. From what she understands, it is fairly rare for Avatars to communicate with people in the cycle who were not their immediate past life…unless, for some reason, their spiritual guide thought that another Avatar was better suited to give advice in a particular situation.

"Thank you," Rei replies, smiling slightly and running her hand over the red velvet of the armchair as if reminiscing about something. "It’s a replica of my family’s summer vacation home on Ember Island. It’s very close to my heart."

Korra nods, fascinated by the new information on the Spirit World. Until recently, it had been a total mystery for her, just like it had for everybody else. It’s comforting to think that those who have passed on can recreate the environments they loved, where they spent the best parts of their lives. Her mom had been so distraught after her mother - Korra’s grandmother - had passed, and she makes a note to tell her mom, the next time she comes to visit, that Gran-Gran is probably happy, living in her little igloo near the river and the otter-penguin dens, reunited with Grandfather again.

And then Korra remembers that there isn’t going to _be_ a next visit, that she can’t see her mom and dad again, that she won’t ever be allowed to write to them again, and it’s like she can’t make her lungs draw another breath. Rei sees the expression on her face change, and she gets up, coming to sit beside her on the sofa. She rests a hand on her back, offering some quiet comfort, and it’s so reminiscent of her mom - it’s the closest thing that she’s had to a motherly touch since she left the South Pole and her mother; since she last saw Pema in Republic City - that she bites her lip hard, trying her best not to cry.

"I’m sorry," she says, her voice cracking, turning away. "I don’t know what’s going on…I’m not normally like this, I swear…"

"You don’t have to apologize," Rei replies softly, and she rubs Korra’s back as Korra swallows over her tight throat, trying to fight through the wave of melancholy. "There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know that you’re in a very difficult position on the mortal plane."

Korra sniffles, feeling herself losing the battle against the tears. If anything, that makes it worse - that all the other Avatars before her can see her confusion and cowardice, and know how pathetic and messed-up she is. _Look at her,_ she imagines them talking amongst themselves. _Falling in love with the man who kidnapped her - what is wrong with her? How did the cycle go so wrong? As if her spiritual failure and attitude problems and total inability to airbend wasn’t enough. What a coward, running away from her duties and responsibilities, when all of us faced equal dangers with so much more courage._

Rei frowns, as if reading her mind. “…Did you know that I ran away, once?” she asks, after a long while. “Centuries before Avatar Aang ever did, so he wasn’t the only one, contrary to popular belief. I wasn’t sure if that made its way to the history books.”

Korra swipes at her eyes with her wrist as she looks up, distracted. “What?” she replies unsteadily. “I didn’t know that, so I guess it didn’t.”

Rei pulls out a handkerchief from one of the pockets of her silken red dress, offering it to her. “It was after the battle at Serpent’s Pass, after a very traumatic experience.” She pauses, her lips twisting bitterly, and Korra can’t help but think back to it - in her lessons, all she had been taught was that Rei had been taken prisoner by an enemy general when she was fifteen, and she awakened the Avatar State for the first time to defeat him and free herself. Years later, during her previous trip to the Spirit World, Aang had told her the full truth. The general had raped Rei and fully intended to kill her, and it was her pain and desperation that drove her into the Avatar State as her last means of self-defense.

Despite her best efforts, Korra shudders, unable to imagine the physical, emotional, and mental agony that the other woman must have gone through. She rests her hand on Rei’s tentatively. “I am so sorry.”

The words are painfully inadequate, and Rei just nods, her golden eyes sorrowful. “I came here, to the last safe place, with my dear friend Liling. The war was still going on, of course, but at that point, I couldn’t have cared less. The Fire Nation was burning and hundreds upon hundreds of people were dying by the week, but I didn’t want to go back there, or to any other nation. I fully intended to abdicate all of my responsibilities - all I wanted was to stay here with her, for the rest of my days. Because what had being the Avatar brought me, aside from fear and pain?” She shrugs one shoulder, staring out the window. “The revolutionaries kidnapped my father and older brother and held them prisoner for two years, in an attempt to manipulate me into surrendering, and then they took _me_ prisoner, and…”

She trails off, and the words strike a painful chord inside Korra. Rei smiles slightly, blinking hard at the same time. “I understand, Korra. I do. And I would never, ever judge you for everything you’re feeling and what you’re going through.”

The words ease some of the crushing pressure, the guilt and self-loathing inside her, and for the first time since coming here, Korra’s shoulders relax slightly. “But you did go back,” she says quietly, trying to piece it all together. “You helped end the war, you negotiated peace between the enemy forces and prevented the Fire Nation from splitting into two. What…what happened?”

"The war kept raging on, and Liling’s entire family was killed in an attack on the capital," Rei replies simply. "It was - that was when I started to feel guilt for what I had done. I had escaped, I was finally safe, but thousands of other people were being harmed, and the fact that it hit so close to home finally helped me realize how terrible that was. As hard as I tried to rationalize things, I couldn’t forget that I had the power to at least _try_ to stop the bloodshed. So I went back.”

Korra shakes her head, struggling to wrap her mind around it. “You must have been so scared,” she mumbles. “After everything that had happened…”

"Oh, I was. I was absolutely terrified. But at the same time, I knew that I couldn’t live with the guilt of doing nothing."

Korra stares at the floor, her hand clenching into a white-knuckled fist around the handle of her teacup. “That’s how I feel every day,” she manages, her voice barely audible, her throat tightening again. “On some level, I know that I should go back to Republic City to try and stop Amon, but I - I’m so scared. He said he was going to destroy me, he wants to kill me.” She wipes her eyes with her wrist, before remembering the handkerchief. “He could have done it on Memorial Island. He could do it at any time he wants. I hate saying it, but he’s a better fighter than I am, especially since I haven’t been able to go into the Avatar State. He overpowered me so easily, I was totally defenseless - if he had pulled out a knife, or hit one of my chi points hard enough…”

She falls silent, the memory of her whole life flashing before her eyes as he reached toward her, and her acute terror in that moment, making her nauseous. Rei squeezes her cold, clammy hand, the warmth reassuring, and Korra shakes her head again, numbly. “And I don’t want to die. It _scares_ me. I’m only eighteen, there’s still so much that I want to do and experience. And then I feel bad for being such a coward, and guilty for wanting to turn my back on the world and live my own life.”

"There is nothing weak about what you feel," Rei says calmly. "There is no shame in it. To fear is only natural and human. But I know that you have tremendous amounts of courage as well, Korra. You have the true spirit of a warrior inside you, just like Kyoshi."

Korra shrugs, looking down at her hands. “I know I used to. But I don’t feel that way anymore. Not since—”

Not since that night in City Hall, the first time she had learned what it felt like to be truly and completely powerless. Not since all the times after that, when Tarrlok had used bloodbending to force her to run away from Republic City with him and be a fairly cooperative hostage. Not since the countless instances when he had overpowered her attempts to fight and escape, turning her own body against her and forcing it to betray her, even when she thought that she was safe. Not since the afternoon, early on, that Tarrlok had seen her trying to send a letter to her parents at the post office, came in and interrupted her with some fake story about how a water pipe in the kitchen had burst, flooding the room, and could she please come help him clean it up - and then, once they were alone, he stood _really_ close to her and told her that if she ever tried to break the rules again, he would find out, and she would return to a more _traditional_ imprisonment situation, like the kind she had experienced in Republic City. Not since the times she had tried to tell him her point of view, and convince him that they needed to go back, only to have him never listen to her and win those fights, time after time, until it got to the point that she didn’t even want to bring it up. 

She drops her head, staring at the ground in defeat. She hadn’t been that brave, tough-as-nails girl - _Kyoshi come again,_ Master Katara would say fondly - in months. Not since Tarrlok had taken her captive, and slowly and steadily chipped that fighting spirit down to nothing.

"Is that what you really want?" Rei asks gently. "To give it all up, and permanently resign your responsibilities as the Avatar?"

Korra frowns, confused. “I do,” she replies, thinking of everything Tarrlok had told her - but then, reflexively, she thinks of her parents and the airbender family and Mako and Bolin and Asami; Master Katara and the little children in the South Pole; the Wolfbats, who hadn’t deserved what they had got; and the fifteen metalbending cops that had been kidnapped, and all the other people of the world, who rely on the Avatar to maintain balance - “…but no,” she sighs. “I don’t. Even though I have - these periods of selfishness, I guess - I still care about everything that’s going on in Republic City, and I want to put a stop to it. Nobody should have to live in fear just because they happen to be a bender or a non-bender. I don’t want the world to be permanently knocked out of balance, like it almost was during the Hundred Year War.” She stares down into her cup of tea moodily. “Tarrlok says that I should just let the United Forces or one of the other nations step in, but I don’t think they will. When there’s a war in the Earth Kingdom, the Fire Nation and the Water Tribe don’t get involved, do they? This won’t become a worldwide problem until Republic City falls to Amon and it’s too late.”

She curls her hands into fists, cracking her knuckles out of reflex. “The thing is, though,” she admits, her shoulders slumping, “even though I do want to go back, and I think I have a different plan on how to stop Amon from doing what he’s doing, I don’t know how to. I’m back to square one, where I was when Tarrlok first brought me here.” She gestures tiredly. “And it’s so exhausting to just be at that impasse.”

Rei fidgets, looking a little uncomfortable, for the first time. “I don’t mean to be insensitive,” she says carefully. “But you do realize that Tarrlok has been exploiting your fears and vulnerabilities for quite a long time, with the intention of suppressing and eventually extinguishing the part of your identity that has to do with being the Avatar, yes?”

Korra opens her mouth, but no sound comes out for a few moments. “Yeah,” she acknowledges, with some reluctance. Spirits, when Rei says it like _that,_ it makes it sound like she’s being brainwashed. “It’s only because he loves me, though, and he wants to keep me safe.”

Rei frowns a little. “Whatever it may be, it’s your life, and you have to be the one in control of it, with the power and freedom to make your own decisions. Nobody else.”

"How do I take back control, though?" Korra asks, looking at her past life beseechingly. "It’s not like I wanted this, like I just chose to hand it over to him - I just got tired of fighting, because he wouldn’t let go, no matter how hard I tried."

Rei smiles sadly, reaching out and cupping the side of her face in one hand comfortingly, for a brief moment. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

"I don’t," Korra replies, puzzled. "I don’t understand."

"You will," Rei says, "in time. Now be brave, young Avatar. Remember that you are not alone, that you will never be alone, and that we are all looking out for you. I know that you have the strength to face the challenges that lie ahead." 

Before Korra can even say anything, her surroundings begin to fade, just like they had last time, though Rei’s last words echo in her mind even as everything else goes black.

When she opens her eyes again, feeling utterly drained despite the nap, she’s back on the mortal plane, wrapped in a soft blue bathrobe and resting on the bed. The pain in her shoulder blade is completely gone, and the air around her smells like Northern Water Tribe five-flavor soup. Korra lies still for a while, replaying her interaction with Rei in the Spirit World in her head down to the last detail, trying to come to terms with everything she had said and everything she had heard. 

_How do I take back control, though?_

_I think you already know the answer to that question._

_I don’t. I don’t understand._

_You will, in time._

Korra grimaces, throwing her arm across her forehead in frustration. Someday, when she is the next Avatar’s spiritual guide, she will _not_ give them ambiguous advice. She’ll just come out and say everything she has to say, and save her successor a lot of headaches.

Her train of thought is interrupted when Tarrlok comes in to check on her, and he smiles a little upon seeing her awake. “I was just going to wake you up.”

"How long have I been out?" she asks, trying to sound as casual as possible. He has no idea that she can actually connect with the Spirit World, if only rarely. 

"About half an hour. How does your shoulder feel?"

"Much better," Korra says emphatically, reaching an arm out to him. He joins her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her, and as she twines her fingers into his hair and holds him close, she tries to puzzle out what Rei had said.

"Good," Tarrlok says, his voice muffled by her hair. "Be more careful next time. I hate to see you hurt."

He leans down and kisses her, and she reciprocates a little belatedly. “Are you done with the soup, or is there anything I can help with?” she asks afterward, rubbing his shoulders. 

"I’m just about to stir-fry the tofu, nothing strenuous." 

"Don’t forget to put the basil in it. Actually, I’ll come and do it."

Tarrlok ruffles her hair affectionately before leaving the room, and Korra slides out of bed, retrieving a fresh dress from the closet. It feels nice to move and reach for things without that awful pain in her shoulder blade.

_Be more careful next time. I hate to see you hurt._

She sighs, leaning against the closet door. As much as she likes feeling loved, she still hates when he says things like that - it’s just too ironic, coming from the person who had put her in this situation and, in doing so, caused her more pain and anguish than anybody - even Amon. But the sentiment had been genuine. She still remembers the effect her breakdown had on him; how truly worried he had been when seeing how much pain she was in, when she couldn’t stop crying and had rejected food and all of his attempts to comfort her.

_You can talk to me. You can tell me what’s wrong._

_I don’t want to,_ she had sobbed. _I’m just so tired._

Tarrlok’s shoulders tensed up ever so slightly. _Tired of what?_

She could barely catch her breath between words; she was crying so hard at that point. _I’m tired of hurting, tired of being the Avatar, tired of being_ me, _tired of everything. I just want it to stop._

He flinched, when she said that. _It will pass,_ he told her sharply. _This will pass. Don’t say that._

The next day, he hadn’t wanted to go to work. He’d told her that he didn’t want to leave her alone. She just didn’t want him around, because having him nearby hurt. Tarrlok had sat on the bed, in front of her, and made her look at him and promise that she wouldn’t do anything to hurt herself. _Not today, not ever._ Korra didn’t resist - she’d barely even listened to what he was saying, just nodded and said yes at the appropriate times - and did it just so he would go away. She had fallen into a troubled sleep just afterward, and she hadn’t thought much about it again, until now.

When she had recovered, she noticed that the cleaning supplies and the knives in the kitchen mysteriously returned to the places they had once been, and so did the fan that hung from the ceiling in their bedroom. She hadn’t even noticed that they had been gone.

_I don’t mean to be insensitive,_ Rei had said. _But you do realize that Tarrlok has been exploiting your fears and vulnerabilities for quite a long time._

It was true. It was the undeniable truth, and she had allowed him to do so - she had let down her guard - because she loved him and trusted him. He had done it to keep her safe and with him, because it served his own interests, on an emotional level as well as a calculated one.

Korra laces up her dress blindly. The thing is, she’s not the only one with fears and vulnerabilities to exploit. And he’s not the only one who has interests to serve. As much as she dislikes it sometimes, as much as she wishes otherwise, she _is_ the Avatar. It is an undeniable part of her identity, just like how she’ll always be Water Tribe, no matter how far she moves from the South Pole. She has responsibilities; she has people to protect. It’s her job to help people live in harmony and maintain the balance, and the way Amon is trying to deal with the conflict between benders and non-benders is not the right way. She won’t let the world fall out of balance on her watch. She doesn’t want to be remembered as the vanished Avatar, the one who had allowed this to happen. 

The idea forming in her mind is messed up. It’s wrong. But so was what Tarrlok had done to her, deliberately playing on her deepest insecurities and fears, things she had confessed to him and _only_ him, because she had come to love him.

She makes her way into the kitchen and stir-fries the tofu with mint, dropping it into the soup, as Tarrlok prepares Sitka’s dinner, her usual fish and vegetable stew. When they’re both finished, she pushes him against the counter and hugs him tight, nestling close. The impact makes all the breath leave his body, and he leans down, kissing the top of her head. “What was that for?”

Korra can hear the smile in his voice, and she swallows over the lump in her throat. “Sometimes I just can’t contain my love for you, tigerbear,” she replies dryly. Tarrlok laughs, and she closes her aching eyes. _I’m sorry._

-

The two of them break the surface at the same time, making the race as as to who can complete the fastest clam dive an official tie. Tarrlok rakes his soaked, disheveled hair out of his face and tosses the clam back into the sea, gasping for breath, his eyes stinging from the salt water. Korra splashes him, before waterbending herself out of the ocean and close to fifteen feet in the air, aided by a spinning torrent of water. She releases the technique with a splash in midair, swan-diving down into his arms with a wolflike howl of exhilaration.

He tries his best to catch her, using a move that looks lovely in ballet but doesn’t translate well to real life, and the impact knocks both of them several feet underwater in a tangle of limbs. They make their way to the surface together, dripping and exhausted. 

"I think you broke my ribs," Korra gasps, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You’re so _stupid,_ just because you can do a stupid waltz doesn’t mean you’re a trained dancer—”

"I think you broke my collarbone," Tarrlok replies ruefully, rubbing his collarbone, equally out of breath. "And just because you can waterbend doesn’t mean you’re an aquatic acrobat."

Korra pouts at him. “Even?”

"Even," he agrees.  

They drag themselves up to the sand, fingers intertwined together. Korra bends the water off her body and out of her hair before pulling on her dress, and Tarrlok does the same, sighing with gratitude for the warm fur of his anorak. They sit nestled against the rocky outcrop of the cliffs, the same place that they’ve shared so many intimate conversations. Korra wonders out loud whether there are eel-sharks or other dangerous beasts in these waters that she can wrangle and ride, and Tarrlok wonders out loud how such a seemingly normal young woman can be such an extreme thrill-seeker.

Korra lapses into silence after a while, and Tarrlok takes her smaller hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “Is there something on your mind?”

She turns toward him, the moonlight reflecting in her eyes, and glinting off the carved stone on her necklace. “Actually, yeah,” she says, after a brief pause. “…I was just thinking about my mom and dad. I wish I could have told them about you.” She touches the necklace lightly; absentmindedly. “I know they wanted me to be in a relationship as great as theirs, and find some amazing person to settle down with someday.”

Tarrlok hesitates, momentarily lost for words. “They seem like good people,” he settles with, finally. He tries to avoid thinking about them, the people who raised Korra with such love and made her the irresistibly bright, happy, vibrant person that she is. 

Korra nods sadly. “They are. Even if they don’t know the details, I just want them to know that I’m alive, and I’m happy, so they don’t have to worry anymore.” She closes her eyes, a frown knitting her brow. “Think of how upset your mom was when Noatak disappeared,” she says, her voice barely audible, and Tarrlok can’t help but flinch. “It’s like that. Except that they know I was kidnapped. Everybody from Republic City would have told them that you were some kind of psycho violent bloodbender. They’ve probably spent the past six months thinking that their only child is being held captive by somebody who’s hurting her and torturing her every single day. If she’s even alive. Can you imagine?”

Korra looks at him bleakly, the wind stirring her hair, and again, Tarrlok has no words. “…I can’t,” he manages, at last. For just a second, he puts himself in their shoes; if he and Korra ever had a daughter - a little girl with Korra’s eyes and smile - and Amon or whoever else took her away, like he had done to Korra—

He has to abandon that train of thought because the wave of mingled revulsion and rage that sweeps over him is too great to bear. 

"Can I write to them?" Korra asks quietly, tugging on his hand until he looks back at her. "It’ll just be a few lines, just the basics, to tell them that I’m okay. I won’t give away any information, I promise, and I’ll borrow the onion merchant’s car and drive for however many hours I have to and send it to them from some other post office. Please."

Tarrlok hesitates for a few moments, unsure of what to say, feeling a terrible, creeping sense of discomfort spread over him. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, sweetheart,” he replies tentatively. “Even if you drove for three hours, it would give them an idea of our general vicinity, which would make it easy for them to track us down.”

He expects Korra to argue, to glare, to snap or sulk resentfully. The way her face falls - the way the hope drains from her like water down the sink - is worse. She looks so disappointed and crestfallen that it hurts, as she turns away, and all he wants is to take it back and give her the answer she had wanted; the answer that would have made her face light up with joy. He wants to surprise her, to say _not only can you write to them, but we’ll go and see them when summer comes._ But he can’t - it’s impossible - and in that instant, Tarrlok feels as trapped as she does. He wraps his hand around the back of her neck gently, drawing her close, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “I’m sorry that it has to be this way,” he tells her softly, meaning it more than he ever has before. “I really am.”

She doesn’t respond, save to lean away from him, nestling into the rocky outcrop behind them, and closing her eyes. Tarrlok strokes her hair in a tender, wordless apology, until she drifts off to sleep.

He stays still for a long time, unable to come to terms with the sorrow and regret that has lodged into his chest like a cold, hard stone, making it difficult to breathe in again. At long last, he stands, pulling the hem of his loose Water Tribe pants up his shins, before returning to the water to stand in the shallows, not far from Korra. The gentle waves lap against his legs, sand shifting underneath his bare feet, and his gaze is drawn, steadily and inexorably, toward the full moon, bright and silver against the dark sky. Like all waterbenders, he can feel its pull tonight; feel his powers spike. Korra is several feet away, but he can sense her breathing, the beat of her heart, the rush of her blood through every artery and vein and capillary in her body, as closely as if she were pressed beneath him, his lips brushing the pulse point in her neck. 

Tarrlok closes his eyes for several moments and then opens them up again. For the first time since childhood, he wishes he had been born a non-bender, like his mother. A non-bender, who would feel nothing when looking at the moon, except appreciation of her beauty. Not the water in everything on earth - the ice, the snow, the sea, plants, animals, humans - calling out to him. Everything would have been so much easier and less painful. Non-benders had no capacity to learn bloodbending, obviously. As angry as he had been with Korra in City Hall that night, all he would have been able to do as a non-bender, was intimidate her and make a few threats. Crass, perhaps, but forgivable, and nothing he could have been imprisoned for, in any case. A dramatic improvement on abduction and holding her captive.

Tarrlok looks back at Korra, curled against the rocks in a small, miserable ball, and his chest tightens. This can’t be the reason he was born a waterbender. 

"You’re right, you know."

He turns around sharply, startled, and he nearly falls over when he sees it - _her,_ he corrects belatedly. The ethereal, pale form of a woman, several feet in front of him, the hem of her gown floating above the water. Tarrlok freezes, stunned and frightened all at once. This can’t be real, this can’t actually be happening, but then he remembers stories Noatak had told him, about how the Moon Spirit had appeared to Avatar Aang and saved him from drowning at sea, in a particularly violent storm. He’s not an Avatar, he’s nobody particularly important, but—

He doesn’t look back at Korra, but he’s still conscious of her presence, still peacefully asleep and unaware. As ridiculous as it seems, he has forgotten what she is; the bridge between the Spirit World and their own; the reincarnated spirit of the planet itself.

"Yue," he croaks, voice hoarse with disbelief. He doesn’t kneel so much as his knees actually give out beneath him.

"Tarrlok of the Northern Water Tribe," she greets, and there is great sadness on her face. "You’re right. This isn’t why you were born a waterbender. Your bloodbending is a terrible misuse of the power granted to you."

"I never wanted to learn it," he blurts, desperate to distance himself from Yakone and even from Noatak, his lost brother, who had reveled in the absolute power and control it bought him. 

"I understand that. You were just a child." The look in Yue’s eyes softens momentarily. "But now, for everything that has happened in the past six months, there is absolutely no excuse."

Tarrlok closes his eyes again, shamed by the weight of her condemnation. “I had no choice,” he says, for the hundredth time - to Korra, to himself, now to her. “It wasn’t something I wanted.”

"You did have a choice, and you obviously did want it," Yue replies evenly, folding her hands into her wide sleeves. "The alternative was to admit to what you had done, when Councilman Tenzin and the others came to confront you. And you started panicking and having second thoughts the minute you locked Korra up in that cabin. You could have turned around then, and tried to negotiate a peace with her, but you didn’t do that, either. You had at least two chances to choose between what was right and what was easy, and you chose the latter both times."

He can’t protest, he can’t argue. She sees right through him, and Tarrlok shakes his head, confused and upset. “I know that what I did was wrong,” he says, through gritted teeth. “That’s why I haven’t used bloodbending in months. I love Korra. I won’t ever hurt her like that again.”

"No," Yue snaps, her eyes glittering with sudden anger, and the waves washing over his feet seem to become stronger; the water colder. "You don’t love her, and you should stop lying to her and telling her that you do."

Tarrlok stares, taken aback. “Excuse me?” he asks tersely, and only the need to be respectful to the ancestral spirit of his people makes him hold his tongue. _You’re a spirit, what do you know of love?_

"Love is unselfish, and everything that you’ve done with Korra ever since you met her has been motivated by selfishness," Yue says, her voice rising. "Love is sacrifice. Love means letting go, even when all you want is to hold on." The expression on her face darkens, and all of a sudden, Tarrlok remembers that she had been a living, breathing girl once, more than seventy years ago; a girl that, if Noatak’s stories were to be believed, had a brief romance with Councilman Sokka. "Love is about wanting and doing what’s best for the other person. How is this - kidnapping her, holding her hostage, keeping her against her will, isolating her from her family and friends, deliberately manipulating her, forcing her to be somebody who she’s not - what’s best for her? It has been psychologically and emotionally damaging, and you _know_ it.”

Tarrlok narrows his eyes, exhaling slowly. “At least she’s safe here—”

"You would be doing this even if Korra wasn’t in danger from Amon or anybody else," Yue says coolly. "The only difference is that this situation makes it so much easier for you to confuse her and make her think that this is what’s best for her."

Tarrlok remains silent, unsure of how to respond, and Yue shakes her head. “At this point, the least you can do is be honest with yourself.”

"What do you advise I do, then?" he asks, looking up at her.

"I advise that you try and undo some of the wrongs you have done, for your own good, and hers," she replies levelly. "It’s not yet too late to turn back, Tarrlok. Not everybody has this chance."

Tarrlok hesitates, again. “I…”

"I know that it’s hard," she says, beginning to drift backwards, further away from him. "I know that you’re frightened. But you must keep in mind that there will be consequences, if you continue down the path that you are on."

He wants to ask her to wait, to ask her what she means, but she vanishes, and all that faces him is the empty ocean, and the rays of the moon glittering on the dark surface. 

Tarrlok stands still for a long time, lost in thought. Finally, he turns around, slowly making his way toward the sand. He touches Korra’s shoulder gently, and she stirs, blinking up at him tiredly.

"Come here, sweetheart," he says. She places her hand in his and climbs to her feet, but she doesn’t lean against him like she normally does. He leads her back up the beach, toward the shortcut that will lead them home. They walk in silence, and she turns back as they leave, glancing regretfully at the sea.

-

Korra meditates on her plan for nearly a week. She refines it, abandons it, modifies it, doubts it, and hates herself for coming up with it, in turns. 

It makes her terribly uncomfortable, and more than a little sick, every time she thinks of it. It’s so - _low,_ cunning, manipulative, exploitative. 

It’s everything that Tarrlok can be at his worst. It’s everything that he’s said and done to her, in her most vulnerable moments, ever since he first took her captive. And the thing is, now, it’s her only chance at regaining her freedom and regaining control of her life. 

So she decides to do it, to act at the end of the week. When she thinks of what is at stake here, indecision and failure to act isn’t an option. Even though she hasn’t been able to get her hands on another newspaper, she can sense that the situation in Republic City is getting more and more tenuous. She lies awake for hours at night, unable to control her anxiety, as she thinks of the airbender family and Chief Beifong and the missing metalbending cops and Mako, Asami, and Bolin. 

Korra shuts herself in the bathroom five minutes before Tarrlok is due to get home from work, and coldly, clinically rolls the sleeve of her dress up to her elbow, before creating a thin, razor-sharp blade of ice with her waterbending. She takes the blade and presses it to the soft, sensitive skin of the inside of her arm. 

This isn’t the first time she’s been in this position. It had happened a few times, during the weeks she had been going through that emotional breakdown. All she had been able to think of, then, was how badly she wanted to escape her own skin; how badly she wanted to be free of all the pain and confusion and self-loathing that threatened to crush her under its weight. She had wished she just could cut it out of her, like slicing the rotten parts away from a fruit.

She hadn’t ever actually cut, though. The first time, Sitka had come into the bathroom and pawed at her leg, looking up at her with such a heartbreaking expression that Korra had slid from the edge of the bathtub to the floor to hug her, and had then wept into her fur for an hour. The second, third, and fourth times, Sitka had scratched at the closed bathroom door in an obvious panic, and that had made Korra think of how Naga would always look out for her, and that made her think of her parents, and she suddenly lost all will to do what she had intended.

This time, unlike the previous times, she acts, refusing to flinch back from what she has to do. 

Korra does it quickly, unable to hold back a hiss of pain. When it’s done, she rests the blade on the side of the sink, where it will be clearly visible, and heats her index finger with firebending. She presses it to her skin until it burns enough to leave a mark. The pain is enough to bring tears to her eyes, but she doesn’t falter. She stays still until she hears the front door open and shut, and then she washes the blood down the sink, and heals the cuts most of the way. 

"Korra?" Tarrlok calls. "I’m home, sweetheart."

His normal tone shifts, then, into the almost-baby-talk that he uses whenever Sitka greets him. _Oh, hello, Sitka sweetie, how was your day,_ spirits, _that is a large bone. Did you hunt that jackalope all by yourself? I think you did. Who’s a good girl?_

Korra closes her eyes, resting her aching head against the mirror at her side. _I’m sorry,_ she thinks, miserably.

"Korra?" Tarrlok calls again. "Where are you?"

"I’m in here," she replies hastily, her voice shaking, casting one last look around at the scene she’s set up. "I - don’t come in. I’m washing my hands."

"Sitka sneezed on my face, I need to wash it," he says, from the other side of the door. "Are you all right? You don’t sound well."

"I’m fine," she says, taking care to sound anything but.

Tarrlok comes in, as she knew he would, and finds her healing her arm.

The stunned expression on Tarrlok’s face, as he looks between her wrist and the ice blade on the counter, is almost too much to bear. “What are you doing?” he asks, and his voice comes out small and frightened, making him sound like the scared teenager who found his mother’s lifeless body lying on the bathroom floor.

"Nothing," Korra replies hastily, melting the blade with a sweep of her hand, turning them to water that runs down the sink. 

He grabs her hand, pulling her toward him so hard that it makes her stumble, and yanking up the sleeve of her dress to reveal the three mostly-healed cuts on the inside of her arm, as well as the fingerprint-sized burn marks in between them. Tarrlok’s grip falters, and he couldn’t have looked more shocked and horrified if she had created an ice knife with waterbending and stabbed him with it.

He presses a gentle finger to one of the cuts, staring down at her helplessly, and Korra can read the emotions on his face as easily as if he were an open book. “How long have you been doing this?” he asks numbly, his voice barely audible.

She looks down at the floor so she doesn’t have to look at him, shrugging one shoulder. “A while.”

The silence hangs over them, thick and suffocating, for several moments, before she hears the small, choked sob that tears its way free of his throat. Tarrlok pulls away from her and actually flees, slamming the bathroom door behind her so hard that the small room seems to shake. Korra grips the marble counter, steadying herself and trying to regain her composure, taking a few deep, calming breaths. She opens the water and heals herself with it, until the skin on the inside of her arm is as fresh and unmarked as a baby’s.

She leaves the bathroom, looking around cautiously. The bedroom is empty, as are the rest of the rooms in the house. Sitka paces in circles around the kitchen, whining in distress and scratching at the glass door, and that is how Korra finally finds Tarrlok in the back courtyard, sitting on the rusted porch swing, his head in his hands, shoulders slumped. The swing is too small for them, the fabric that covers it hopelessly worn and outdated. She had offered to give it to one of the neighbors, whose grandson had come to stay with them, but the woman had shaken her head, offering a motherly smile. _Keep it. It’ll be perfect for your children to play on someday._

Korra hesitates for a few moments before joining him, placing a tentative hand on his back. She remembers thinking once before that there was just something _wrong_ about the sight of Tarrlok crying, and that hasn’t changed.

She lets him cry for a long time, until there are no tears left, and he looks at her through red-rimmed eyes. “You promised me that you wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt yourself,” he says quietly, his voice threatening to break again.

Korra winces at the memory. “I know.”

"Then why—" He stops, fighting to pull in an unsteady breath. "Were you trying to—"

"No."

"Why?" Tarrlok asks again, his voice cracking. He takes her hand in his and squeezes it, then presses it to his face for a few moments. "All this time, I thought that you were all right. I thought that you were happy. Why would you do this to yourself?"

Korra closes her eyes, and his words send her back to all the darkest times of the past six months. To the scalding hot showers, the temperature so extreme that the water had turned her skin red, and scrubbing herself with her nails so hard that it left angry marks all over her body. To the long runs in the forest, an attempt to distance herself from her own feelings and leave it all behind, where she had pushed herself so hard that her chest, lungs and ribs, had screamed with pain and felt like they were going to burst. The grueling exercise routines, running through a hundred forms in a day and doing long, punishing punching drills for hours, until every muscle and bone in her body ached mercilessly. The times when she went swimming in the ocean before Tarrlok got home from work, and only Sitka’s presence nearby prevented her from swimming far out, to where the sea got rough, and letting the current sweep her away. The times she was alone, and she would scream into her pillow with fury and sorrow and confusion until her throat ached and her voice was raw from the strain. To the hours, during the worst part of her depression, when she would sit on the edge of the bathtub and rock back and forth, her head in her hands, overwhelmed by the desire to rip herself open, from her chest to her toes, so she could finally be free. And the times, then, that she had held the ice blades and placed the point to her skin, and thought _I want out, I want out, I want out,_ a million times over, but never actually made a cut.

"Because it hurts," she says quietly, looking down at her hands. "It hurts so badly, and this is the only way I can deal with it."

Tarrlok wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close, trying to offer some comfort. His breathing is still a little unsteady. “I’m sorry,” he replies, closing his eyes, an expression of self-loathing twisting his face. “I’m so sorry.”

She remains silent, and he sighs. “No matter what I do, you can never really be happy here, can you?”

There’s no accusation or anger in his tone, just a resigned sadness, and Korra shakes her head, after a few moments. “No, I can’t. And - and it’s not you,” she adds, shrugging helplessly, gesturing back toward the house. “It’s _this_.” 

There it is, the hard, ugly truth, lying out in the open between them. He pulls back; puts his head in his hands again. “Yue was right,” he mumbles tearfully. “I’ve been so selfish. But I’m not like Yakone. I can’t do this, I can’t keep you and watch you be miserable and drive you to - to…” 

Korra reaches out and pushes a loose lock of hair behind his ear tenderly. “I know you’re not. You’re a better man than that.” And that is exactly what she has been counting on. It makes her feel dirty, exploiting Tarrlok like this, manipulating the one trigger that is guaranteed to play havoc with his emotions - but still, on the inside, she’s trembling with exhilaration. Freedom is so close that she can taste it.

She leans against him, taking one of his hands and pressing it between both of hers. “Take me back,” she tells him, almost seductively, “return the Avatar to Republic City in the city’s time of desperate need, and you’ll redeem yourself. It’s just like what Fire Lord Zuko did when he betrayed his father and allied with Avatar Aang to teach him firebending. Zuko did terrible things when he was Aang’s enemy, but once he saw the error of his ways and worked to right the wrongs he had committed, Aang and the others forgave him.”

Tarrlok looks at her blankly, taking it in. 

"You’ll be a hero," Korra says softly. "This is your one last chance to finally be the city’s savior, just like you’ve always wanted to be." She lets that sink in, before going in for the kill. " And I’m the Avatar, I’ll use my influence to make sure that you get total and complete clemency for everything that happened before we left."

Tarrlok inclines his head, obviously lost in thought. It looks like she’s getting through to him, and finally, he blinks at her, looking like a lost, tired child. “I can trust you,” he says, with just a little uncertainty.

Korra leans close, kissing him on the cheek. “Of course you can.”

Tarrlok wraps his arms around her, pulling her close, and the swing creaks. For a few long moments, there is silence, and she feels him swallow over his dry throat. “Then it’s settled,” he says quietly. “We’re going home.”

She leans her face against his chest, hiding the smile that curves her lips. “We’re going home,” Korra echoes, and for the first time in more than six months, it feels like she can breathe again.

-

_to be continued_

_-_

A couple of notes for this chapter: I do not think that it is beyond the realm of possibility or terribly OOC to think of Korra wanting to self-harm as a way to cope with the depression, anguish, confusion, anger, self-doubt and loathing, and all the other negative emotions that she has felt since Tarrlok has taken her captive. As a result of Stockholm Syndrome and a lot of other things, the Korra we see in Strings is not canon-Korra. Even taking canon-Korra into consideration, a lot of viewers have speculated that she may have briefly considered committing suicide by jumping off the cliff in the moments before she sat down and wept, and Aang appeared to her in a vision. She felt hopeless and overwhelmed by sorrow, and Strings-Korra has gone through a lot of the same emotions, and more.

Another question that some of you might have is why Korra references so many feelings of depression and possible suicidal ideation during the end of the chapter, when we usually see her feeling happier, doing things like going on adventures with her friends and having diving competitions and lighthearted chats with Tarrlok. During the past few chapters, ever since Part 4, Korra’s narration has focused more on her interactions with others, with brief introspection and insights into her feelings. The reader sees her with others, when she is usually happier, but the feelings and emotions Korra references here are the dark thoughts that surface and that she goes through during the many hours that she’s alone, “behind the scenes”, which I haven’t really been writing about. 

As always, if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, my ask box is always open. :)


	10. Part Ten

_“The more people you love, the weaker you are. You’ll do things for them that you know you shouldn’t do, you’ll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe.”_ \- Cersei Lannister, _A Clash of Kings_ (George R.R Martin).

-

They sit in silence on the swing for a long time, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

Tarrlok holds her. Korra rests her head on his shoulder. The only sound is the chirp of the crickets, from the direction of the woods, and the creak of the swing’s rusted chains. When the sun has nearly sunk beneath the horizon, he stirs, squeezing her hand gently. “We should make dinner,” he says, voice a little hoarse from disuse. 

They go inside together, and kneel to pet and cuddle the anxious-looking Sitka, before they start to cook. They don’t talk much, with the exception of the necessities _\- “can you pass me that knife?” “I’ll fry the vegetables,” “I’ll cut up the fish,” “I’ll boil the noodles.”_ But they stay close to each other as they work, hips and arms brushing. Tarrlok wraps an arm around her waist while she chops the vegetables, and later, she holds his hand as he stirs the noodles. The two of them forego the small table in the kitchen to eat on the sofa together, after giving Sitka her usual bowl of fish stew. 

They eat quietly for a while, which is unusual. “I know that every day makes a difference to Republic City, but I need to give the town two weeks’ notice,” Tarrlok says, at last. 

Korra nods, and she realizes with a jolt that Tarrlok leaving means that the children of this small town will be without their teacher; one of the best and most educated teachers they’ve ever had. “Do you have any ideas about replacements?” she asks, in a small voice. Without somebody to teach at the school, the children who are ten or older will just start going to work with their parents, and Tarrlok had said repeatedly that he wanted these children to have more opportunities than their parents did. A lot of the students’ parents can barely read or write. This is a poor town, after all, and the vast majority of people make barely enough to get by.

Tarrlok nods absentmindedly, setting his bowl of noodles aside. “Chang’s father, the librarian, went to university for two years. He’s overqualified for his current position, and I know that his family could benefit from the increased income this will offer him. I can talk to him tomorrow." 

Korra leans against him, trying to offer some comfort. He looks tired; the fine lines around his forehead and eyes seem more deeply pronounced than usual. She has the feeling that neither of them anticipated, in the beginning, how much he would truly come to love this job. _Maybe he can find something like it in Republic City,_ she thinks to herself, trying to ignore the fact that no parent will want a known bloodbender, the man who had kidnapped the Avatar, anywhere near their children. She shakes her head, trying to clear the thoughts. 

The realization dawns on her that she probably has to do something similar, with the two weeks’ notice, for all the people she works for - the town’s butcher, and the three restaurants she regularly delivers fresh game too. Her heart feels oddly heavy at the thought. Despite her eagerness to return to Republic City as soon as possible, have her freedom back, and try and work to undo some of the damage Amon has done in her absence, it’s probably good that she still has two more weeks here. It’s enough time to say goodbye. 

It’s a struggle to wrap her mind around the concept. After such a long time living here, being intimately involved with the town and becoming friends with everybody in it, the thought of leaving, leaving _forever_ , and abandoning her comfortable daily work and social routine, seems so strange and foreign. What had started out as a prison and a forced exile, filled with non-bending rural strangers, had eventually become her home - a safe, happy place, filled with the comforting routines of going to the market and going to work, and spending time with Tarrlok, Sitka, and her friends.

Her spirits plummet even further when she thinks of Emi and Roumei, especially. Two weeks ago, Emi had told her and Roumei that she and her husband were expecting their first child, her whole face glowing with excitement. _You two need to get on it_ , she laughed, throwing her arms around their shoulders and giving them an affectionate hug. _We can all help each other through being pregnant, and wouldn’t be great if our children could grow up together and be friends, just like we are?_ The two of them had echoed the sentiment, and Korra had wondered fleetingly what it would be like, if her life could be that simple. 

After Emi had left, she had stayed at the bakery with Roumei until it closed, both of them busy planning a baby shower for her. It’s just strange to think that she won’t be at the baby shower they had planned, or at their weekly meetings at the tea shop or the bakery, or when Emi’s baby is born. And it’s strangely difficult to think back to a time when her life didn’t involve having an actual job; when all that consumed her time was bending practice and pro-bending. Her world had just been so small, before she had come here. She had hardly known anybody outside of her parents, the Order of the White Lotus, her old bending instructors, Tenzin’s family, and the Fire Ferrets. Here, everybody knows and likes her. The neighbors, the people she works for and their families, the fishermen and merchants and their families, even the other girls that Emi and Roumei had gone to school with. They genuinely like her for who she is, rather than just admiring her and being nice to her because they know that she’s the Avatar.

Korra closes her eyes briefly, struggling to hold on to her composure. "What are we going to tell people?” she asks, instead. “Taruq and Senna need to have a reason for leaving so suddenly less than a year after they came here to settle down." 

"I was thinking we could say that my mother was taken seriously ill,” Tarrlok suggests, after a few moments of thought. “She had a stroke, and since my father had passed on years ago, she’s all alone in the North Pole, with nobody to help take care of her.”

“And we’re going back to help, of course. That sounds good.” Korra thinks of her parents, and her chest starts to hurt. The prospect of seeing them and hearing their voices again, after she has wanted and hoped for it for so long, seems unreal. She closes her eyes, thinking of them; of the fact that within two weeks, she’ll actually be able to hug them again. “Everybody knows how important family is to the Water Tribe.”

“Exactly.” Tarrlok pauses, frowning. “I think the real question is what we plan to tell everybody back in Republic City." 

Well, that _is_ a more difficult question. Korra frowns, briefly stumped, before taking her last bite of noodles and then setting the bowl aside. "I was thinking,” she says, at length. “Maybe…over time…you started to feel really guilty about what you had done. Bloodbending me and the others, the kidnapping, the whole deal. Like, you felt horribly guilty. Especially because over time, living together, you and I became really close friends or something.”

Tarrlok smirks faintly, despite the gravity of the circumstances; reaching out to toy with a stray strand of her hair. “Or something.”

Korra looks down at her hands - the cuticles ragged from where she had picked at them over the past few days out of stress - and blushes, hating the fact that this part of the conversation is inevitable. But he had given her the perfect transition. She had been dreading blurting it out out of nowhere. “It’s not that I’m ashamed of you - or - this…or anything,” she says, all in a rush, thankful for the fact that over the past several months, she has learned to lie with a lot more ease. The feelings of shame come and go, though, so maybe it isn’t entirely a lie, after all. “…But once we get back to Republic City, I don’t think we should tell anybody about, uh, us. Not for a while, anyway.”

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, fighting the urge to squirm with unease. Tarrlok nods seriously, not appearing to take any offense or seem excessively hurt, and she lets out a breath she hadn’t realized he was holding. He squeezes her hand lightly, looking saddened, but slightly, wryly amused. “Yes, I think that would be best for both of us. If my former colleague Tenzin and Lin Beifong had any idea, they would lock me up somewhere where I would never see the sun again, and I’m sure that you would be lectured on the error of your ways until you turn thirty.”

Korra scoffs humorlessly, recognizing the truth in his words. “Please. Lock you up? My dad would actually try and kill you. With one of those.” She gestures at one of the ornamental Water Tribe battleaxes Tarrlok had bought to decorate their house, so long ago, making an animated hacking motion in the general area of his neck. “Tenzin might kind of try to talk him out of it, just to say he did - airbending and nonviolence and all that - but then Beifong would just tie him up with metal and hold him out of the way." 

Tarrlok grimaces. "You can’t expect them to understand,” he says dismissively, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles across the back of her hand. “They would just think that I’ve been taking advantage of you.”

Korra scowls at the thought - they would, too, she can just imagine their aghast expressions and quietly horror-struck exclamations - before propping her legs up on the coffee table and glowering at them. “You are not. I’m not stupid, or a little kid.” She had reached adulthood, according to Water Tribe custom, at sixteen. Old enough to get married and have kids of her own, old enough to go on hunts and out to sea by herself, old enough to strike out on her own and travel the world, or to the sister tribe in the North Pole. All of the others in the South Pole who were her age had done at least one of those things - and yet, even as her sixteenth birthday came and went, everybody in her life had still insisted on sheltering her and giving her slightly less freedom than the average ten-year-old. She doubts that’s going to be any different when she goes back, even though she’s eighteen now; pretty much a grown woman. 

Tarrlok sighs, correctly reading the mutinous expression on her face. She had only vented to him about this about a hundred times. “Again, you can’t expect them to understand that.”

Korra frowns, pressing her toe against the corner of the coffee table until it hurts. That’s true. As much as she wants to go back to Republic City and see her loved ones again, including her parents and Tenzin and his family…it’s going to be hard to adjust, going back to essentially being treated as their child, after all this time living as an adult. That’s part of the reason she had felt so strongly that it was a good idea to keep the exact nature of her relationship with Tarrlok secret, for now. 

If only they could do that forever. As much as people will appreciate his repentance and the act of releasing her from captivity, she doesn’t think anybody she cares about - let alone the press, if they ever hear about this - will ever forget the fact that he did hold her hostage for…it will be eight months, by the time they return to Republic City, and that he had held her captive in his basement and kidnapped her using bloodbending. It’s the question of what the others will say, if they knew, when they come to know, that troubles her. For all this time, when they have been effectively isolated in the middle of nowhere, in their own corner of the world, it hasn’t been an issue. But all of that is going to come to an end in two weeks’ time. She can just imagine the expression of horror and disgust, mixed with concern, on Tenzin’s face, and Lin giving her that confused, _are-you-really-this-stupid_ look, and of course Mako, Bolin, and Asami won’t understand either. How could they? 

And none of that even compares to how her parents will react. Her dad, in particular, won’t understand why Tarrlok isn’t going to be locked up in the Boiling Rock for the rest of his life. Or worse. Just the thought of explaining to him that it’s not going to happen because she specifically asked for it not to is enough to make her mouth go completely dry.

Korra pushes the thoughts out of her mind with some effort. _They can just deal with it,_ she thinks to herself fiercely. None of them have lived through this, so how can they judge her? Besides, none of them know Tarrlok or understand him like she does. She won’t deny that he has done more than his share of awful, questionable things, but he’s really not a bad person at the core, and their relationship is in no way near as damaging as everybody will definitely paint it out to be. The fact that he had agreed to let them go back to Republic City for the sake of her well-being proves that. He loves her enough to go back on the plan that he had clung to for the past almost-eight months. 

That fact still hasn’t quite sunk in, even though she had replayed the conversation in her mind a dozen times over. The important thing is that she doesn’t think he is going to back out now, not after talking over the details, like they just had. And she had meant what she said, too. She can protect him from any legal consequences that he might face when they get back to Republic City, as best as she is able.

The thought lingers in her mind as Korra settles herself on her knees, before leaning over and pressing a soft, tentative kiss to his lips. She wraps her arms around his neck, trying to pour all the gratitude and apology she feels into the simple gesture. Tarrlok reciprocates very gently, as if he’s afraid that she will break under too much pressure, and she runs her fingers through his hair, pressing up against him, as he pulls her into his lap, cuddling her close. It’s a struggle to keep her throat from closing up and to try not to cry all of a sudden, just from thinking back to all the times they’ve done this, on this sofa. 

It’s perverse, how badly she wants to go back, and how terribly she will miss the sweet simplicity of this, all at the same time. As much as she wishes otherwise, everything will change, everything will become a million times more complicated, the moment they walk out of this house for the last time. And there’s no denying how important this relationship had become to her, and how important he had become to her, against all odds. _But you can’t have your cake and eat it too, Korra,_ an inner voice snaps at her _. You can’t have everything you want._

She is distracted when Tarrlok lifts her into his arms as he stands up, supporting her with one arm underneath her knees and one arm underneath her back, and Korra pouts through her tear-filled eyes. “Hey, it was my turn to pick you up.”

Tarrlok kisses her on the forehead. “I’m sorry. You can pick me up anytime you want after this.”

He carries her to their bedroom, and when they kiss again after he sets her feet down on the floor, her hands on his shoulders and his hands resting on the small of her back, rubbing slow, reassuring circles against the fabric of her dress, her flashback to the first time they they had ever been together is so strong that it nearly drives her to her knees. Korra buries her hands in the fur trim of his shirt before letting them slide up to his neck, pulling him down and into her, overwhelmed by the desire to be close. _I don’t want to lose you_ , she wants to say, and for once, it’s like they’re thinking on the same wavelength. Tarrlok holds her like he doesn’t ever want to let go, so hard that her ribs ache a little, and she can’t even remember the last time they had kissed with this kind of breathless passion.

Korra pushes him to the bed without breaking the kiss, walking him toward it until it collides roughly with the back of his knees, and Tarrlok collapses down on it with a muffled sound of surprise. He pulls her down on top of him like a blanket, carefully undoing her braids, pulling her hair free of the ribbons, and smoothing his fingers through it between kisses, until it falls over both of them like a dark curtain. The strands mingle with his on the pillows, the shades of deep, dark brown almost indistinguishable from one another. 

Over the past months, she had found that she liked the way their skin and eyes and hair looked so similar. She lost count of the amount of times people they had met in the town had told them what a beautiful couple they made. _Look_ , she had said once, when they had been having a picnic in the forest with Sitka, and had come across the lake. They had stood on the edge, hand-in-hand, and Korra had glanced down at their reflection, rippling ever so slightly in the breeze. _We’re a perfect match._

The thing that makes her sad is the fact that they could have been, once. If they had never fallen out, back in Republic City, and disagreed over how to best deal with the Equalist situation. Even if they had disagreed more politely. If they had sat down to talk about their differences over a cup of tea in his office, instead of losing their tempers and lashing out at one another. 

Korra unbuttons his shirt and tosses it to the side, so it lands haphazardly over the lamp, in an attempt to distract herself from the thoughts. After Tarrlok undresses her, easing her dress down over her shoulders and then tugging it off her body entirely, along with the bindings that cover her breasts, though, all he does is hold her and rest his face against the crook of her neck, all the breath leaving his body in a long sigh. He presses a soft kiss to her pulse point, before doing the same to her chest, right over her heart. Korra stares at him uncomprehendingly for a few moments before the realization hits her, and when it does, she tugs on his hair lightly, making him look up at her. “Hey,” she says softly, around the lump in her throat. “It’s okay." 

He sighs again, closing his eyes briefly and looking so, so tired, and sad. "No, it isn’t. Seeing you like that,” he says, after a long pause. “It was…”

Tarrlok turns away, unable to continue, and she can’t ignore thinking about it any longer. If she had been in his place, if she had walked in on somebody she loved harming themselves like that, and known that it was directly because of something she had done, and that they had been doing it for a long while and hiding it from her–

Korra leans down and kisses him gently. “It’s okay,” she says again, quietly, trying her best to ignore the cold, creeping guilt that curls around her heart like a strangling vine. She wonders if he had felt this bad, whenever he had deliberately manipulated her. “I won’t do it again. You’re going to make it right.”

“I will,” Tarrlok promises. He takes her left hand and presses a kiss to the inside of her palm, and then, hesitantly, to the inside of her wrist. She had done a good job of healing the self-inflicted slashes and burns. The skin is as smooth and unmarked as a baby’s. “I promise.”

-

The next evening happens to be the day of her weekly meeting for tea with her friends. Korra stares at her reflection blankly as she gets ready, feeling numb, inside and out. Her stomach aches. She doesn’t have to do anything to make herself look pale and worried, with slightly reddened eyes. _Toughen up_ , she tells herself sharply. This is just going to be the second of dozens of unpleasant conversations that she is going to have in the next few weeks. 

She had given the butcher and his wife her story just an hour ago, after returning from work; she had said that the letter from the North Pole had just arrived that morning. They had been so sad and sympathetic. They had fretted over her and told her how much they were going to miss her, but that she and Taruq were so good and dutiful. _You’re doing the right thing_ , they had both said. The lie had made her feel so guilty that she had needed a bath, and she’s not looking forward to repeating it. 

Korra finds Emi and Roumei at the bakery, talking in low voices and looking worried, neither of them eating. They both get up and make their way over to her hurriedly as soon as she walks in, and hug her in unison, murmuring soft words of comfort, before she can even say anything. _Of course,_ she realizes belatedly. Kamlai and Niran are Emi’s aunt and uncle, and Emi’s husband helps out at the butchery as well as at the restaraunt he, Emi, and Emi’s parents own. News travels fast in a small town like this.

They take her back to their table, and Roumei buys her a cup of hot tea and one of her favorite chocolate desserts. Korra picks at it, drawing lines in the cake’s frosting with her fork. “We just got the letter this morning,” she says dully, in response to Emi’s question. Yesterday, when she had been talking to Tarrlok, she had been thankful for the fact that she had learned to lie with such ease. Now, she hates it. “It probably took more than a week to get here, so Taruq is really worried.”

“So you’re really going back,” Emi says sadly. “It feels like you just got here. It hasn’t even been a whole year.”

Korra nods, looking down at the table. “Taruq’s mother is way older than my mom, and she’s all alone. The neighbor who wrote said that she can’t walk now or use her right arm, and she’s having a really hard time speaking.”

“You should try to bring her back here with the two of you,” Roumei suggests, patting her hand. “Zhen did a lot of work with neurological issues when he was in university, so he can help with general rehabilitation and speech. He’s been working with the fisherman’s father every week for more than a year now, and he keeps getting better. He can talk understandably again.”

Emi nods enthusiastically, her face brightening up again. “That’s a great idea! You know that it doesn’t snow much here, so it’ll be a lot easier for your mother-in-law to travel around in a wheelchair or with a walker or cane than it would be in the North Pole, too." 

They both look so hopeful that Korra’s throat closes over and the backs of her eyes begin to sting. "That does sound good,” she manages, pushing a stray strand of hair out of her face, just to give herself something to do. Of course she won’t ever be coming back here to live with her husband and mother-in-law. Tarrlok’s mother hadn’t lived to even see her son graduate from university. Besides, if she ever comes back to visit, everybody will know that she lied; that Senna the hunter from the Northern Water Tribe and Taruq the kind, intelligent primary school teacher had been the captive Avatar Korra and the horrible, evil bloodbender Councilman Tarrlok all along. It will be a massive scandal; fodder for gossip for years, maybe. That is, if Amon even lets her live long enough to consider returning here for a visit someday. “I’ll talk to Taruq about it." 

"Don’t cry, Senna,” Emi tells her anxiously. “Maybe it’s good that you’re going back to the North Pole for a month or two. You can make up with your parents and everything.”

“Yeah - since you and Taruq have been married for more than a year now and everything is working out so well, maybe your mom and dad will accept it." 

"Maybe,” Korra says, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve, and trying her best to smile. They’re both so kind, so earnest. Neither of them deserved to be lied to. It would have been nice to tell them the truth. “I hope so." 

-

Afterward, Korra goes home and stands in the study and cries a little bit, despite her best efforts to hold on to her composure, as she touches the wall and the desk and the chair. She and Emi and Roumei would hang out here on weekends when they had been working on their amateur submission radio script. Roumei would sit on the chair and take notes, prim and proper, while Emi would sit on the desk and swing her legs back and forth enthusiastically, and she would sprawl out on the floor. It had been here that they had finally figured out their killer surprise twist ending, and had cheered so loudly that Sitka had given them alarmed looks and rushed off to hide in the bedroom closet.

This also happens to be the same place that she had first initiated anything intimate with Tarrlok. The first several times, he had always been the one to start it, which hadn’t really been a surprise. Both of them knew that at that point, at least, he had been more in love with her than she had with him. One random evening, though, she had walked past the study and found him hunched over the table, writing lesson plans for an upcoming science class. For some reason, she had been struck by the odd desire to walk back and go in, and when she did, she had spent a few moments rubbing his shoulders, which then somehow turned to combing his hair with her fingers, with then somehow turned into kissing the back of his neck and running her hands over his chest.

Tarrlok had turned around and stared at her, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him look that surprised. In response, she had just pulled his chair away from his desk and sat on his lap–

"Korra?”

Korra turns, surprised, to see Tarrlok stepping inside. “Whoa,” she says, shaking her head, wiping at her nose with her sleeve self-consciously. “I didn’t hear you getting in.”

He hugs her hello, and she rests her head against his chest. “I talked to Chang’s father just now,” he sighs, rubbing her back lightly. “He’s willing to take on the job, so the two of us are going to see the mayor tomorrow.”

Korra nods, looking up at him. “When are you going to tell the kids?”

Tarrlok grimaces. The prospect obviously isn’t a pleasant one for him. He had started out in a constant state of frustration with his students, due to the fact that he was completely unused to interacting with anybody under the age of thirty-five. In turn, the children had labeled him the most “bossy and annoying” adult any of them had the misfortune to know. Over the months, though, Korra had watched as they grew on him, and in turn, they begin to appreciate him as well. The study has several crayon drawings taped to the wall, and on the rare occasions that she finishes work early and stops by the classroom to visit Tarrlok on the kids’ lunch and playtime break, she usually finds him sitting at his desk, surrounded by a small group of children, listening to stories that they tell him.

“I’ll tell them tomorrow,” he replies, with some reluctance. “I think it would be best to give them some time to get used to the idea, rather than surprising them with it two days beforehand.”

“Yeah, that’s good.” Korra absentmindedly straightens the fur trim on his shirt. “Some of them will cry,” she warns. “And they’ll look at you with these sad expressions on their faces.”

Tarrlok winces. “I know." 

"I told Kamlai, Niran, Emi, and Roumei today.”

“How was that?” he asks, cupping the side of her face in his hand.

Korra shrugs with one shoulder, looking down at the floor. “Not fun. Emi and Roumei think that we’re going to bring your mom back here to live with us after a couple of months, and I couldn’t think of a way to tell them that it wasn’t going to happen.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I guess.” She hesitates, her shoulders slumping. “I just wish that life wasn’t this hard.”

Tarrlok leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I wish I could tell you that it gets easier.”

Korra stands on the tips of her toes, kissing him on the lips instead, curling her fingers around his wrists. “Do you want to know what I was thinking about when you came in?” she asks, when they finally pull apart.

“Of course,” he replies, giving her a small smile. “I always like hearing what’s on your mind.”

She leads him over to the chair and makes him sit, before sitting on his lap. She doesn’t have to say anything more. “Oh,” Tarrlok says, comprehension dawning in his eyes, as he wraps his arms around her.

She doesn’t remember leaving the room, that night. The first time had been on the chair, the second on the desk. She had been so overwhelmed with emotion - desire for him on a physical and emotional level - that she could barely string words together, and Tarrlok had been touched and flattered by the fact that for the first time, she was showing signs of wanting him as much as he had always wanted her. Afterward, they had cuddled on the chair, and her last memory of the night was falling asleep in his arms, lulled by the beat of his heart. In the days and weeks and months that passed, she found that she could never think of the study in quite the same way again. 

Korra sees her thoughts reflected on his face, for the second time in as many days, before Tarrlok takes the ends of her braids in his hands, lightly pulling her in for a kiss. It tastes sad and regretful, and she feels the plea in it; the same restlessness she’s been feeling ever since she came back from tea with her friends. _Help me forget._

She does.

When they’re getting dressed, later, Tarrlok kisses her on the neck, as she re-ties her bindings. “Tell me that this won’t change,” he breathes.

Korra shuts her eyes tight. “It won’t,” she says, automatically, unthinkingly.

-

The two weeks pass. 

In the first few months, when she had envisioned the day they would leave, it had been a cause for jubilation. There would be jumping up and down in glee and screaming with happiness involved. She would kick walls and punch doors out of sheer joy. 

This is not the case. 

They cope by trying to pretend that they aren’t leaving; that nothing is going to change; that there isn’t an invisible clock ticking down the hours until they leave, on the twentieth day of the month, to catch the merchant ship that will take them back to the United Republic. Tarrlok had bought the tickets two days after they had decided that they were going back. They sit on the bedside table, a silent reminder.

The two of them take Sitka for walks on the beach, and laugh when she tries to eat sand and chase crabs. They spar and play with waterbending, swim in the ocean, and have long conversations on the coast, the place where they’ve shared hundreds of talks, from the serious to the utterly ridiculous. With Sitka curled up next to them and Tarrlok’s head resting on her shoulder as she holds one arm around his waist, Korra knows that no matter what the future holds, she’ll always hold on to these happy memories. 

Every day, they find small, different ways to say goodbye to the house that they had turned into their home; to the quiet and happy domestic life they had shared, because as much as they won’t acknowledge it aloud, nothing will be the same after this, and they both know it. As much as she tries to stop it, to calm herself and control her anxiety by meditating every night, Korra’s nightmares of Amon and the Equalists return in full force, and Tarrlok barely sleeps. For the first time since coming here, his nightmares worsen in frequency and intensity until they’re just as bad as hers, and losing themselves in each other provides a much-needed distraction.

When they slow dance in the kitchen with a few candles lit, just like the time Tarrlok had first taught her how to dance, it ends with her pressed against the wall and Tarrlok kissing the hot chocolate sauce that was supposed to go with the strawberries they had bought that evening off her bare shoulders and collarbone. One morning, Korra decides to act out one of the fantasies he had confessed to her, and sits on the bathroom counter and helps him shave, while wearing nothing more than one of his unbuttoned work shirts. They hold each other tightly at night, every night. Sometimes they try and talk through their thoughts and fears, and sometimes they don’t.  

Five days before their departure, Korra climbs off him, sweaty and exhausted, and curls up beside him, her entire body feeling pleasantly warm and tingly. The yak-bear-skin rug underneath them is rough against her skin, and the fire crackling in the fireplace warms the sitting room far more than is necessary, since it’s finally summer. She pats Tarrlok’s face once, affectionately, and then leans down, brushing kisses over his forehead and cheeks and nose. “You know what’s weird?” she asks, tucking the top of her head underneath his chin and nestling close, as he wraps an arm around her.

“Hmm?" 

"I can’t even imagine doing this with anybody else, now,” Korra confesses quietly, closing her eyes and tracing a finger in lazy circles over his muscled upper arm. “You know. Touching someone and kissing them. Letting them touch me. And stuff.”

“Really?” Tarrlok starts rubbing slow circles against the base of her neck with his thumb, making her sigh and arch against him. 

“Mmm. Really.”

He turns, kissing her on the temple. “Good,” he says softly.

-

The last five days go by too fast. Before she knows it, one morning, Tarrlok tells her that they should start packing now, to avoid hurrying at the last minute. They strip the house of the Water Tribe decorations that he had bought for her, returning the large ornamental weapons and the oil painting to the furniture store because they will be too large to carry, and carefully wrapping the smaller things in tissue, as they pack them away. The walls, tables, and shelves look disconcertingly bare and impersonal in the aftermath. They empty their drawers and closets of clothes as well, and Korra lingers for a few moments over the gifts Tarrlok had given her when he had been “courting” her, as well as the collection of Water Tribe dresses she has slowly amassed. She can’t pinpoint when she had become so comfortable wearing them, and she sits on the floor as she folds them and presses them into her bag, trying to imagine what it will feel like to be able to wear her old clothes again and style her hair in the three ponytails she always had.

Her last weekday at work comes a couple of days after that. Korra catches a fairly large haul of skunkfish and salmon-shrimp in the first two hours, and spends the rest of the time wandering around the forest with Sitka, admiring the quiet summer beauty of the forest that she has spent so much time in. They stop by the lake; the meadow; the place on the outskirts of the east side of the forest where the wild strawberries grow. She eats her packed lunch by the stream with Sitka one last time, petting her trusty hunting partner. She visits the wolfcat den too, and she thinks she sees the old male she had bloodbended, once, lying in the cave. She leaves a few skunkfish at the entrance and departs silently. 

When she goes back, Niran and Kamlai, the butcher and his wife, embrace her and give her a too-large bonus that she tries hard to refuse, as well as a thick cookbook filled with Fire Nation recipes, because they know those are her favorite. Korra thanks them profusely for their kindness and friendship, and she is unprepared for the sadness that washes over her as she hands Kamlai her bow and quiver of arrows. _For the next hunter,_ she says. _In case they can’t afford one of their own_. She misses the weight of the bow across her back as she walks home, and her fingers flex, unused to the feeling of emptiness, as she comes home and stands in the middle of their bedroom, not flinging her bow and arrows down into their corner, for the first time in more than half a year.

She had hated the thing, at first. She hadn’t known how to work it. She had resented having to use an actual, physical weapon, instead of her bending. But over the past months, like so many other things, it had grown on her. It had become part of her identity. 

That is Tarrlok’s last day at work too. He comes home with a folder full of drawings and notes from his students, (perfectly spelled, with perfect grammar and punctuation), wishing his mother a fast recovery, as well as a handful of thank-you letters from their parents, and slightly reddened eyes. He sits on the sofa in the sitting room for a while, his head in his hands. “They are the closest thing to children that I have ever had,” he admits, his voice muffled, when she hugs him, trying to provide some comfort. “I know Aiguo will be a capable teacher, but…I’ll miss them.”

Emi and Roumei drop by the house later that day to remind her that the picnic they had planned for her as a temporary going-away party, of sorts, is tomorrow. She and Tarrlok are leaving at sunrise on the day after that. The two of them try and occupy themselves by finishing all the packing and cleaning that has to be done, and they work themselves into a state of utter exhaustion, before falling asleep on the sofa a little before midnight, Korra sprawled on top of him.

Her picnic with Emi and Roumei the next afternoon isn’t as emotionally draining as she had feared it would be, probably because they’re under the impression that this isn’t going to be a permanent departure, and she doesn’t want to tell them otherwise. Not yet. _You can’t just leave them hanging_ , an inner voice tells her disapprovingly. _That’s not right, that’s not being a good friend, when all they’ve ever been is kind to you. They’ll wonder where you are, when you don’t come back in two or three months, like you implied you would–_

Korra shakes the thoughts away discreetly, as she bites into one of the small fruit tarts. But she doesn’t want to ruin this day, she doesn’t want to make it any sadder than it already is, and cast a shadow on the happy memories they’ve been sharing. Still, her insides clench up when they finally finish their leisurely meal and vast array of desserts, and when the sun begins to sink in the sky. She reaches for her sealskin bag, swallowing over her suddenly dry throat. “Hey,” she says, trying to sound cheerful. “By the way - I have something for you guys.”

Emi shakes her head, sitting up from where she’s been stretched out on the picnic blanket. “Oh, Senna, you shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, you’ve been so busy with moving and everything,” Roumei adds, packing up some of the leftover fried rice and duck for her and Tarrlok to have for dinner. 

“I wanted to. You both…” Korra hesitates, struggling to find the right words. Her friendship with Emi and Roumei has made this entire experience a lot more bearable. It’s been a spot of brightness in the dark, from beginning to end. Spending time with them always gave her much-needed solace and a respite when the confusing, overwhelming reality of her circumstances became too much to cope with. She can’t even imagine what this ordeal would have been like, without the support they had inadvertently offered her. When she looks at them now, all she wants to do is hug them and tell them what a difference their kindness and friendship had made to her, during the one time that she was vulnerable, andwhen she really, truly needed it. She’s never wanted to open up to them as much as she does now.

“You’re the first girl friends I’ve ever had,” Korra settles with, finally, and that at least, is the truth. She had never really made an effort to befriend Asami, back in Republic City, and of course, she hadn’t had any human friends her age when she had been growing up in the South Pole. It’s only now that she realizes exactly how much this means to her, and how much the experience of actually having friends who are girls has taught her. “And you’re both amazing. I’ve loved every minute of hanging out with you, and everything we’ve done together. I just wanted to thank you for being so welcoming.” _Not to the Avatar_ , she finishes, silently. Almost everybody on earth will be kind and welcoming to the Avatar. Emi and Roumei, on the other hand, had just reached out to a recent immigrant from far away, new in town and friendless.

Emi smiles, hugging her tightly, and Roumei does as well. “You’re great too, Senna,” Emi says earnestly. “We’re really going to miss you.”

Roumei nods, patting the packed picnic basket. “Write and tell us when you get there, and when you’re coming back. I put a little note with both of our addresses in with the food.”

Korra tries her best to smile, as she unzips her bag and takes their wrapped gifts out. “Just in case something comes up in the North Pole, and we end up heading back here later than we thought…”

She hands one to Emi, and one to Roumei. They tug at the clumsily wrapped ribbons and push aside the wrinkled wrapping paper, and Emi’s mouth falls open as she pulls the hand-sewn receiving blanket free of the paper, before gently stroking the soft purple flannel. “This is so sweet! And oh, it smells of lavender! Did you make this?” she asks in awe, smiling at the bright yellow star border. 

“It’s beautiful, Senna!” Roumei’s blanket is identical to Emi’s, except for the border - kittens; appropriate for a woman who loves animals. 

This time, Korra’s smile is genuine, and she flexes her fingers ruefully, remembering how stiff they would get, after the hours of painstaking cutting and sewing. “I’m glad they came out okay,” she says fervently, thinking back to her disastrous first attempts at mending tears in her dresses. Thankfully, practice had made perfect. Or decent, at least, enough to make her friends happy. She’s never thought too much about babies in general, but imagining Emi and Roumei holding their future children, wrapped in one of her blankets, makes her feel warm inside.

“They’re perfect,” Emi says tearfully, blinking hard. “Thank you so much. Here, we have something for you too–”

Roumei gives her a long rectangular box - it’s made out of carved, lacquered wood, tinted red. Emi presents her with the same thing, except the box is tinted green. Korra remembers seeing vendors in town square selling these, but she had never been curious enough to stop and ask them to open up the boxes so she could take a look. She opens Roumei’s first, and blinks in surprise and awe as she takes in what’s inside. “Whoa,” she breathes, staring at the cherry-wood figurines, and lifting two of them free. One is a dragon-bear with minuscule ruby eyes, and one, she realizes with a jolt, is the Painted Lady that Master Katara had told her about. She can’t consciously remember ever seeing them before, but her fingers tingle with an odd sense of familiarity.

“They’re the most common patron Fire Nation spirits,” Roumei explains.

“And mine are the Earth Kingdom spirits,” Emi says, opening the green wood box, and showing her the five figurines inside, carved from very dark walnut. There’s a falcon-antelope, and a man with the head of a lion-python. Korra lifts each in turn, the Earth and Fire spirits, admiring them, feeling the same tinge of residual familiarity each time. It’s strange to think that her past lives live in the same realm as these spirits; that she’s been to the world where all of them reside. In previous incarnations, she’s probably encountered every single one of them. 

“These are amazing,” she says, with feeling. 

“They’re to guide you,” Roumei replies. “To watch over you and keep you and Taruq and your family safe from harm, always.”

Korra blinks back the tears welling up in her eyes, as she leans forward wordlessly, wrapping one arm around both of them and pulling them into a tight hug. She tries to keep the thoughts at bay, to focus on the here and the now, but she can’t help but think of Amon, waiting for her and Tarrlok in Republic City. To the separate legal issues that Tarrlok might face, despite the fact that she thinks that him bringing her back will be enough to earn clemency for his earlier crimes.

They’re going to need this protection a lot more than her friends could have ever dreamed.

-

That night, she and Tarrlok eat in subdued silence. He goes to bed early, and although he tells her that she should as well, because they have to be up early tomorrow, Korra sits up for half the night and stares out the window, unable to relax. She feels vaguely sick from the mingled, overwhelming senses of trepidation and anticipation; of joy and sorrow. She finally falls into a fitful, restless sleep an hour after midnight, after the thought crosses her mind that this may be one of the last times that she and Tarrlok share a bed, for a long time to come. She presses her hand against the soft mattress, thinking back to all the comfortable, quiet (and not-so-quiet) nights, and the lazy mornings, until she lapses into sleep with a frown on her face.

They wake up early on the twentieth day of the month, before the sun has risen. Tarrlok checks their bags, making sure that they haven’t left anything important behind, while Korra fastens Sitka’s new collar and lead around her neck. They share a simple breakfast of buttered seaweed bread at the kitchen table, while Sitka sniffs their bags in confusion.

Korra doesn’t taste her food as she chews it woodenly, mechanically. Her stomach is churning with emotion even more than it had been during the previous night, her chest aching and throat tight. She finishes half her slice of bread and pushes the other half away, toward Tarrlok. He gently pushes it back to her. “Eat,” he says. “You didn’t like the food on the ship or at the harbor last time.”

His words take her back to their nightmarish journey here, to the helpless fear and rage that had threatened to swallow her whole. Tarrlok had picked at the first meal that they had been delivered, in their cabin, trying to hide his disgust at the fare, and obviously unused to eating anything less than Republic City’s finest cuisine. Despite the way he had glared at her, silent blame for their situation written all over his features, he had given her a share of the food and told her to eat. She had ripped her chunk of bread in half, dunked it in the lukewarm, watery vegetable soup, and thrown it at his face. Her chest clenched up in grim satisfaction at his expression, as the breadcrumbs exploded on his face and clothes, and soup dripped onto his clothing. _I hate you_ , she had snarled, through gritted teeth. _I hope you choke and die._

Tarrlok had wiped his face slowly, deliberately, and turned his back to her, shuddering quietly. She could tell how much of an effort it was for him to keep his temper, but he held on to it anyway. _Fine,_ he said tersely. _You can starve, then. I couldn’t care less._

She had starved herself for almost an entire day after that, out of spite and misery. The next day, Tarrlok offered her the food once more, before leaving the cabin for “a walk.” He had made no comment when he returned to find the plates empty, and she had been thankful for that.

Korra looks up, her gaze meeting his, and she can tell that they’re thinking of the same thing. She lifts a hand to her eyes, and the sound that comes out of her mouth is half a laugh, half a bitter scoff, and half an almost-sob, and that’s too many halves, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s never been that great at math anyway. Tarrlok just covers her hand with one of his and averts his eyes. It’s moments like this when she remembers just how far they have come, and it hits her, how unbelievable all of it is, how it’s almost like a dream, or a story.

She finishes her bread, trying not to think of the fact that this is the last breakfast that they will ever share in this house, and trying not to remember the hundreds that they have had over the past eight months. They were rushed on weekdays, eaten in a hurry while Tarrlok was getting ready for work or she was preparing her supplies for hunting, and leisurely on the weekends, as they read the morning newspaper together and made comments on the articles.

When they have finished, Korra picks up Sitka’s lead, twining the soft material around her fingers. She stands in the entry hall, looking around at the bare walls and into the empty rooms, while Tarrlok double-checks everything, just to be safe. The memories crowd her mind and creep downward until feel like they’re on the verge of choking her, again, and Korra lifts her fingers, running them along the wall absentmindedly. This small house has been her despised, suffocating prison, and her beloved, comfortable home. It is in these rooms, under this roof, that she has experienced her worst, most desperate moments of sorrow, misery, rage, and depression - and this is also the place where she has formed some of her happiest memories. 

But underneath it all - despite the persistent ache in her chest and the stinging in her eyes - Korra takes a deep breath, and looks around one last time, and she knows, ultimately, that she is happy to be leaving. That it is the right decision. This is not where her destiny lies. Sure, by going back to Republic City, she will be walking into danger - but that is exactly where she’s supposed to be, after all. She’s the Avatar, and her duty calls. 

She glances over at Tarrlok, who is also giving the house one last look, through eyes that are reddened and slightly swollen. Korra places a gentle hand on his arm, and he looks down at her, and squeezes her hand, after a moment. She’s a little surprised to see that, regardless of his obvious sorrow at leaving the place he had come to see as home and the worry about what the future holds, there still are no real misgivings on his face, not even regret. Just resigned acceptance, faith, and trust. 

“I love you,” he tells her quietly.

Korra swallows over the lump in her throat as she looks up at him wordlessly, and for the very first time, she truly, whole-heartedly believes him. He would never have agreed to this, to willingly returning to Republic City, if he didn’t. While this has been her plan all along, on some level, she had never honestly expected that it would work. It had been her last hope, wild and desperate, grasping at straws. But the fact that Tarrlok is genuinely willing to give it all up to do what is best for her,  regardless of the risks, rather than just continuing to try and force her to come around to his point of view…

“I love you too,” she replies, lifting his hand to her lips and kissing it lightly. 

They turn away from the house at the same time. Sitka follows along on her lead, panting happily, wagging her tail. Korra has been talking to her about this for a while now, but she doesn’t think that Sitka actually understands that they are leaving to go to an entirely different place and live there, and are not coming back. She leans down and pets the dog on the head affectionately, in an attempt to distract herself from the knowledge that the three of them are walking through the town for the last time. Sitka’s fur is thick and silken, smoother than Naga’s, underneath her hand. She imagines Naga meeting Sitka for the first time, leaning down to touch noses with her much, much smaller replica, and smiles. “You’re going to love Republic City, girl,” she says. 

Sitka looks up at her and licks her hand. 

Instead of walking to the port city, they catch one of the small passenger boats from the harbor, just as the sun is rising. Sitka doesn’t like the boat or the sensation of being on the water, and Tarrlok tries to soothe her, petting her and talking to her softly. Korra stays at the railing as the boat’s motor starts up and they speed away from the dock. She watches as the town gets smaller and smaller, until it disappears into the distance, and she doesn’t realize how hard she’s crying until it’s gone.

The journey to the port city is much shorter by boat, and by the time she has composed herself, drying her eyes and washing her face in the boat’s tiny, cramped washroom, they are almost ready to disembark. As early as it is, the city’s harbor is already bustling with activity. Dock workers and passengers crowd the space, jostling against them as they hurry in twenty different directions, and Tarrlok takes her hand and pulls Sitka close protectively, obviously worried that one of the porters’ trunks might slip and fall on top of her. Korra glances around, taking in the sights and sounds - people yelling back and forth to each other in more languages than she can count, vendors selling tea and fried fish and shrimp on skewers - as they make their way down the harbor, and she can’t help but think back to her last escape attempt, when she had tried to run away and make it to the city on her own. It just seems so surreal, that after so long, they’re really here. Her palms are wet with sweat - she almost expects Tarrlok to turn around and change his mind - but he leads them straight to the merchant ship he had purchased tickets on two weeks ago. A tall, thin Earth Kingdom man stands at the bottom of the gangplank, checking people’s tickets, and the three of them fall into line behind a family of six. 

At long last, their turn comes. Tarrlok hands the man their tickets, and Korra waits with bated breath as he inspects them closely. He frowns, then, shaking his head and pointing at Sitka. “You can’t bring that animal on board.”

Korra blinks, taken aback. She can feel sweat beading on her neck and forehead all of a sudden, as she looks down at Sitka - sweet Sitka, standing patiently near her feet - and then back to the man. “What?" 

"Nobody told us that,” Tarrlok says, smiling in his most ingratiating, politician-type fashion. “I mentioned that we had a dog to the person I bought this from, and they said that animals were able to travel. They had brought their pet with them by ship as well.”

The man shrugs, unfazed. “It’s a new policy. No animals on board, for safety and liability reasons. No exceptions.”

“I think that you can easily make an exception for her. She is very gentle,” Tarrlok tries to persuade, spreading his arms placatingly, slipping even more into politician-mode. “She’s not aggressive in the least, and she’s been given a rabies vaccine. She doesn’t even bark. We’ll keep her in our cabin and clean up after her, and you don’t have to provide us with any extra food. Nobody will even know that she’s here.”

The man narrows his eyes and shakes his head more firmly this time. “There are no exceptions to our policy, sir.”

“But I have a medical condition,” Korra says desperately. “A…seizure condition. The dog helps. I can’t travel without her.”

The ticket collector stares back at her, obviously not believing it. “Do you have any written documentation from your doctor?”

Korra hesitates, her mind racing. “I - uh…”

The ticket collector hands their tickets back to them wordlessly.

Tarrlok turns away, placing a hand on her back. “Very well, then,” he replies casually. “We’ll find another ship.”

The man sighs, raising his voice to make himself heard. “You’ll find that all of the other merchant and passenger ships making the journey to the United Republic have the same policy. Another passenger’s pet dog mauled a man almost to death a year ago. It was a very nasty business.”

Korra shakes her head hard, unable to believe it, unable to even take it in. She bends, stroking Sitka’s head over and over again, pressing her hands over the dog’s golden ears, as if she can block out the words. “No,” she says angrily, and too loudly. A group of people passing by give her curious looks. “You can’t do this, you have to let us - she’s our dog, we can’t just leave her here–”

Her voice wavers, despite her best efforts, and it takes an effort to control the wave of nausea that washes over her. She can feel Sitka’s warm, trusting brown eyes on her, and she remembers, with agonizing, visceral clarity, the last time she had given up a beloved pet. She can’t do that again. Abandoning Naga had been heartbreaking enough, and she won’t do to the same to Sitka, not after taking her in and giving her a home. 

“A lot of people have this problem,” the ticket collector says, shrugging. “There are a few temples not far from here, and they choose to hand over the animals there, to allow them to serve as temple guardians. Your dog will have food to eat and a safe place to stay. I’m sorry.”

Tarrlok looks down at Sitka for a moment. Wordlessly, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thick handful of bills, before reaching out and offering them to the collector. “As my wife mentioned earlier, she has a medical condition,” is all he says. “And we were not aware that we needed documentation of that fact. I’m sure that you can make an exception for us, considering that the dog has been specially trained." 

The man hesitates visibly, before reaching out, slowly, almost unwillingly, and taking the money. He glances down at it, rifling through the bills, and swallows hard, twice. Judging from his reaction, the amount in his hand is more than he could have expected to earn on this trip, and many, many more like it.

When he discreetly pockets the money, Korra lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. "Keep the animal in your cabin,” he says curtly, at last, before stepping back, allowing them to make their way up the gangplank. 

The three of them make their way up to the ship quickly, taking care not to be seen, before heading straight to their cabin and shutting and locking the door behind them. Korra leans against it and sighs, wiping at her forehead. Sitka paces around in a circle in the confined space, her paws clicking against the wooden floors, panting and generally unaware of her close call. Tarrlok kneels in front of her, petting her, trying to get her to relax. 

Korra locks the door, crossing over to them. She leans down and kisses Tarrlok on the top of the head, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind his ear affectionately. “Thanks,” she says softly.

He gives her a small smile. “She’s our girl. I would never leave her behind." 

-

This trip manages to be less stressful and more stressful than the last one all at once. On one hand, she and Tarrlok no longer despise one another, and often stand out on deck together, watching the ocean and skies as they drift past. On the other hand, Sitka vomits often, and the cabin lacks adequate bathroom facilities for a dog, which makes it difficult for all three of them. Strangely, the level of anxiety both of them experience is approximately the same as it was on their journey here. Then, she hadn’t known what was awaiting them, and Tarrlok had known that the Republic City Police and the Order of the White Lotus were already searching for them. Now…she has no idea what atrocities are awaiting them in a Republic City that has come dangerously close to falling to Amon, and Tarrlok is returning to a city that has an arrest warrant, if not a death sentence, on his head.

Tarrlok paces the deck outside or the length of the room in a moody silence, his brow knitted in a frown, shoulders tense. Korra kneels besides Sitka, trying to reassure herself by petting her. Sometimes the two of them just curl up in bed next to one another, even in the daytime, hands tangled together, in relatively comfortable silence. He strokes her hair and cradles her face in his hands tenderly, and she rests the palm of her hand on his cheek. 

There is no clock in their cabin, but when the sun rises on the second day of their journey, Korra feels an internal clock begin to tick, in conjunction with the pounding of her heart. She leaves Tarrlok in the cabin with Sitka and goes to stand out on the deck. They are in the middle of the sea, and she can’t see the coastline yet, but the winds are strong, and she can actually sense the fact that they are near. By nightfall, they will dock in the United Republic, and after another hour by satomobile, they will reach Republic City. This is only the moment that she has been waiting for for the past eight months, and the adrenaline coursing through her arteries and veins is enough to make her feel dizzy.

Korra is jittery for the rest of the day, as Tarrlok grows more and more pale. They don’t talk much. She falls asleep for a short time in the evening, drained by the tension and anticipation, and when she wakes again, it’s dark. She’s alone in the cabin, save for Sitka, who is curled up at her feet, and she closes her eyes and can’t hold back the shudder of mingled excitement and unease that wracks her entire body. 

She pets Sitka for a few minutes, before sliding out of bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and slipping out of the cabin. The first thing she sees is the glittering coastline of the United Republic, bright in the darkness and so near that she could swim to it, and the breath catches in her throat. 

"It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Korra turns, and she sees Tarrlok standing at the railing, a slightly sad smile on his face. The sea breeze has whipped his long hair into a state of disarray, but for once, he doesn’t seem to care. She nods silently, walking over to the railing to join him. The metal is cool beneath her fingers, and he touches her hand lightly. “In all these months, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look as happy as you did just now.”

Korra shrugs self-consciously. _Awkward_. “…It’s home.” She tangles her fingers with his, looking up at him with some uncertainty. “Are you okay?”

Tarrlok shrugs back with one shoulder, a habit he had unconsciously picked up from her. “I’m as nervous as can be expected.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers against her cheek, and she looks away from the shore, back to him. “But I know that I made the right decision." 

She smiles a little, touched. "Thank you.”

They lapse into silence, and when the captain announces that they are going to be anchoring in ten minutes, Korra closes her eyes briefly. She opens them to find Tarrlok looking up at the moon, and she swallows over her dry throat, a little taken aback by the strength of the emotion that she feels. 

Ten minutes. This is it. She remembers the schematic she had once drawn, of a stick-figure rendition of her in her pro-bending uniform, knocking Tarrlok out of Zone Three and into the water. _Game over. And Avatar Korra, of the fantastic Fire Ferrets, wins the match._

She had done it. She had gotten herself out of a seemingly impossible predicament entirely on her own, without tapping into the power of the Avatar State, without the help of the Order of the White Lotus or the Republic City police force or _anybody_. She had listened to Aang’s advice, and found a nonviolent solution to her problem. For so long, Tarrlok had been the one in complete and utter control of the situation, with all the power, leaving her physically and emotionally helpless. He had controlled her, with bloodbending and psychologically - trying to systematically break down her will to resist her captivity - with as much ease as someone pulling on the strings of a little puppet.

And for a time, it had worked. She won’t deny that. But in the end…

Korra glances down at her hands, at her fingers, intertwined with his. In the end, it was her who had learned to pull the strings, with enough cleverness and subtlety to beat him at his own game. She had found his vulnerabilities and exploited them with as much ruthless skill and precision as he had ever played on her own.

_See, that is what I admire about you, Korra. Your willingness to go to extremes to get what you want. It is a quality that we both share._

_You and I are nothing alike!_

She takes a deep breath, fighting the urge to scoff at the irony, and as she looks up at Tarrlok, she feels nothing but sadness, mingled with a hint of resentment. _You turned me into you._

When she remembers the Korra who had existed before all of this, the happy, reckless, brash, naive, thoughtless, _innocent_ girl who had first come to Republic City from the South Pole…that other girl feels like a stranger, compared to who she is now. _But then, maybe it was some growing up that I had to do._

Korra reaches out and rests a hand on Tarrlok’s shoulder until he looks down at her. On some level, she realizes that there is no longer any need to do this whatsoever. Her strategy had given her the results she desired. The game is over, and she has won. She never has to talk to him or touch him again if she doesn’t want to. 

She stands on the tips of her toes nevertheless, and presses a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s going to be okay,” she says. “I promise.”

Tarrlok holds her close, resting his chin on the top of her head, and they only break apart at the announcement that they will be anchoring in the United Republic in five minutes’ time, so all passengers should prepare to disembark. Korra smiles, and he smiles back, small and tentative, and they return to their cabin to retrieve Sitka and their bags, hand-in-hand.

-

_to be continued_

-


	11. Part Eleven

Getting off the ship is harder than getting on it eight months ago, as Tarrlok’s captive, had been.

Korra feels like she’s going to throw up over the railing, and her empty stomach heaves several times as she clutches Sitka’s lead, pulling her sealskin bag close to her side. As they join the crowd waiting to disembark, she holds Tarrlok’s hand so hard he winces, while she cranes her neck, looking through the press of bodies to the dock. Everything appears quiet, in stark contrast to the horde of waiting Equalists that had been in her nightmare the previous night.

Tarrlok doesn’t have to ask what’s on her mind, as he strokes the back of her hand with his thumb. “It’s going to be all right,” he says, his voice barely audible amidst the twenty conversations taking place around them. “Don’t worry.”

When the ship’s captain finally lowers the gangplank, and the three of them reach solid ground for the first time in days, Korra lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She’s not sure if it’s hunger or motion sickness from the sudden move from sea to land, but her head spins, the ground seeming to lurch beneath her feet. It’s all she can do not to sink to her knees on the concrete and grip it with both of her hands and kiss it. Or better yet, to earthbend a chunk of rock free from the pavement and kiss that instead. Because now that she and Tarrlok are no longer in hiding, she can bend. She can actually bend openly again, for the first time in more than half a year.

Korra takes a deep breath, trying to center herself, and she looks up at the night sky; at the moon above them. The stars that surround it are arranged in familiar constellations, the ones that Jinora had pointed out to her during her first night in Republic City. In the Earth Kingdom, she had been surrounded by unfamiliar constellations, unlike the ones she remembered from here and the South Pole, and the simple sight of the Flying Bison and the Lion-Turtle above her fills her with an indescribable sense of relief. She’s _home_. _The Avatar has returned._

Sitka walks in circles around her and Tarrlok, nearly tangling them together with her lead, as she furiously sniffs the unfamiliar ground. Tarrlok pats Sitka on the head, before placing a hand on the small of Korra’s back, glancing around their surroundings cautiously. “We should try and get back to Republic City as soon as possible. It doesn’t look like there are any Equalists patrolling the area, but it’s getting late, and it would be wise not to linger.”

“Right,” Korra agrees, tearing her wary gaze away from a group of young men, standing in a cluster together near a closed food cart. She had just seen one of them use his own finger as a lighter for his cigarette, so chances are that they’re not Equalists. A question suddenly occurs to her, and she frowns. “How are we going to get to the city?”

Tarrlok had driven them, the first time. She had regained consciousness from when he had knocked her out after he parked his satomobile in an empty lot not too far from the docks. When he had opened the door for her, she had tried to push past him and run - but her muscles had been stiff from the bloodbending and chi-blocking, and he had grabbed her waist, looking right into her eyes. _You will be cooperative,_ he said, voice low and dangerous. _Or you and every single person in the vicinity of my bloodbending will face the consequences. Is that understood?_

“We’ll have to take a taxi,” he says now, mild and casual, and so different from the desperate man that still haunts those memories.

“Hopefully they don’t mind Sitka.” Korra bends, giving the dog a comforting scratch behind the ear. 

Tarrlok smirks, pulling his wallet from the pocket of his jacket. “I have a feeling that nobody will.”

There is a small fleet of taxis waiting at the end of the harbor. The drivers either doze in their seats, windows down, or lean against the outside of the cars, smoking cigarettes or reading newspapers in the dim light of the streetlights above them. She and Tarrlok exchange one look, before making their way toward the most ancient-looking driver in the group, in mutual agreement. Lacking spectacles, he holds a newspaper right up to his nose, squinting at the print. Old, with poor vision, all the better to increase the chances that they won’t be recognized. 

Still, Tarrlok pulls his fur-lined jacket closer around him protectively as they approach, shaking his bangs into his eyes. Korra fidgets with one of her braids, and wishes that she had thought to smear some cosmetics over her face, just to make herself look a little older. There’s absolutely no hint of recognition in the driver’s face when he looks at them, though, no hint that he realizes that they’re anything more significant than just a pair of northern immigrants.

“Would you be able to take us to Republic City?” she asks, because after countless radio addresses and speeches to the public over years of being a politician, Tarrlok’s voice is much more recognizable than hers.

The driver grimaces as he folds his newspaper shut. “That’s not the best place for tourism right now, miss. The revolutionaries are close to waging all-out war on the government, and there have been innocent people caught in the crossfire already. You and your husband would be much safer in Shan-Hu.”

“We’re not tourists, we’re going to visit family.” Korra feels her chest tighten. Is the situation in Republic City really that unstable? She forces a smile. “We’re non-benders. We’ll stay out of the revolution’s way. It has nothing to do with us.”

The driver shakes his head skeptically. “Very well, then. I’ll take you as far as the docks there. I don’t want to risk going further into the city at this time of night.”

She thinks of Air Temple Island, a small, shining beacon of light from the shores of the mainland, and this time, her smile is more genuine. “Thank you.”

The three of them squish into the backseat of the old satomobile with their bags. Sitka is as distrustful of the satomobile as she had been of the ship, and she places her front paws and head onto Tarrlok’s lap, panting anxiously. The roads are deserted at this time of night, and the driver goes faster than Korra had expected, humming along to the jazz music on the radio. Under normal circumstances, she would have wanted to ask a few questions, and subtly press for information about what the situation is in Republic City, exactly. The same goes for Tarrlok. He’s much more subtle than she is, and he’s an expert at manipulating conversations and oh-so-casually coaxing even the most sensitive, supposed-to-be-top-secret information out of people. 

Neither of them speak up, though. The knot of mingled anxiety and apprehension and excitement inside her is too big and suffocating to allow for speech, and she has the feeling that Tarrlok is in a similar state of tension - except without the excitement. 

Korra presses her hand against his in the darkness of the backseat, and he takes it, intertwining their fingers together. It’s the most simple of comforts, one that they have shared hundreds of times over the past months, and the thought that this will probably be the last time they can do this openly for spirits know how long fills her with sadness. She rests her head against his shoulder, determined to savor the last minutes of peace they will have - the little family they had built, Korra-Tarrlok-Sitka - and he leans his cheek to the side until it presses against the top of her head. 

The drive to Republic City passes more quickly than she would have liked. Korra sits up once they reach the city limits, looking out the window casually, when in reality, it’s a struggle to not press her face against the glass and stare around at the city she hasn’t seen in so long as intently as she can. Everything outside seems quiet. There’s no sign of life whatsoever; no hint of the twenty-four-hour vibrancy that had characterized the Republic City she remembers. Maybe the police had started some kind of curfew? 

The second thing that stands out to her is that all the shops and businesses that used to be open late are closed, now. There are several shop windows that have been boarded up, and storefronts that have fallen into a state of disrepair, obviously abandoned. Korra scowls, fidgeting restlessly. Have benders been fleeing the city? Or did these businesses belong to ex-benders, who have had their bending taken from them by Amon? Or were these the property of the innocent people who had been caught in the crossfire, like the driver had mentioned?

The harbor is just as deserted as everywhere else had been, and Korra breathes a soft sigh of relief when they pull up to a stop at the viewing spot for Avatar Aang’s statue, across the bay on Memorial Island. The fact that he’s still standing there to watch over the city, whole and unbroken, is more reassuring than she can say. She steps out, holding Sitka and her bag, as Tarrlok pays the driver their fare. “Look, Sitka,” she says. “That’s Avatar Aang. He’s our friend.”

Korra points to the statue, and for the first time ever, looking at it doesn’t send a crippling stab of self-loathing, and that dark, creeping sensation of inadequacy, through her. It’s all in her head, but briefly, she imagines the stone Aang’s lips curving upward in a small smile. She’s sure that he can see her, from wherever he is in the Spirit World. He knows that she’s succeeded - in this task, at least - and that she has come home.

She hears the satomobile’s engine rev up, and she watches it drive away as Tarrlok comes to join her, carrying the rest of their things. “We have a problem,” he says, looking across Yue Bay, at Air Temple Island.

Korra tenses up, turning her back to the sea and scanning their surroundings. “What?”

Tarrlok touches her arm before she can bend any water from the bay. “It’s not that. Did you notice that the ferry’s no longer docked here? Air Temple Island must have been cut off, for security reasons - to protect the last airbenders.”

She had been so busy looking in the direction of Memorial Island that she hadn’t even noticed. “Right,” Korra replies decisively, eyeing Sitka and all of their stuff. Even though the streets look empty, she feels way too exposed and vulnerable, standing out here like this. The sooner they can get to the safety of Tenzin’s home, the better. “We’re going to have to swim across. You ready to do this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Tarrlok murmurs, not looking away from the island.

Korra leans against him, wrapping her arms around his waist in an attempt to offer what small comfort she can. He hugs her back tightly, and though he seems as calm and composed as always, his palms are cold and clammy. 

When they finally break apart, Tarrlok turns his regretful gaze on Sitka, who’s standing at his side and wagging her tail in blithe ignorance of what is to come next. “I’m sorry for this, sweetie.”

He sweeps water from the bay to the land in one graceful movement, before using his waterbending to create a protective air bubble for the dog. He lifts the bubble with Sitka in it into the air with ease, and Korra has to turn away from the frightened look on her face, as Tarrlok gently guides her into the dark water of the bay. “Can you get our bags?” he asks, stepping toward the ledge.

Korra performs the same technique with their things. “Got it.”

Tarrlok dives into the water, joining Sitka, and after sending the bubble with their things in, Korra dives in as well. The water isn’t nearly as cold as she remembers from the last time. She meets Tarrlok’s gaze underwater, and after she nods, they set off, with her leading the way. She directs the bags, while Tarrlok keeps Sitka close. The journey from the mainland to the island takes twenty minutes by ferry, but she and Tarrlok effortlessly glide through the depths of the bay at twice that speed, aided by their waterbending. She can’t help but think back to the first time she had ever swum across Yue Bay, so long ago, when she had snuck over to the mainland in hopes of seeing a pro-bending match. That had been the night she had met Mako and Bolin. It’s unbelievable, how much has taken place since that evening; how much has changed. And that makes Korra remember the last time she had made this journey, on the winter night that she and Naga had left Air Temple Island in secret to go and confront Tarrlok. If she had never done that…if she had been a better person and not woken up the sleeping Naga, and waited until the morning to accompany Tenzin to City Hall…

The thoughts make Korra’s chest ache even more. Over the course of her time in the Earth Kingdom, she had remembered Air Temple Island with such fondness, until it actually started to cause her physical pain. The perpetual quiet serenity there; the sound of the wind blowing through the leaves of the ten thousand, five-hundred-and-fifty-two trees on the island, and the gentle, repetitive rhythm of the waves crashing against the beach. The smell of the flowers lingering in the air, and the chattering of the ring-tailed winged lemurs. And most importantly, Tenzin and Pema and the airbender kids. Jinora, Ikki, and Meelo had been so loud, so quirky and full of energy. She’d never really been bothered by the age difference between her and the kids - they were all fun to be around, and could make every chore, like filling the lemurs’ nectar dispensaries, or cleaning out the sky bison stables, a hundred times more entertaining. 

She hopes that the kids still have the same joy and innocence, despite the fact that they’ve been living in a city that’s on the edge of becoming a war zone, and that everybody in their family is a target. And that Pema’s baby was born healthy, and that she and Tenzin are both okay too. They are only minutes away, but it still seems surreal, that she’s this close to picking all of them up in a massive hug, just like she had when she had first arrived in Republic City. After so long, she’s finally going back to where it had all started. 

The shore is approaching fast, and Tarrlok directs Sitka to the surface and the sand first, knowing that she’s in a state of distress. Korra tosses their bags in the same direction, and she and Tarrlok break the surface in the same instant, gasping for air. 

The first thing she hears is shouting, and she shakes her dripping hair away from her face, confused. On land, Sitka is standing near their bags, growling at the men approaching her - two men in Republic City police uniforms and one in the blue-and-white outfit of the Order of the White Lotus, and–

“Freeze!” shouts one of the three police officers - and two more members of the Order - all of whom are staring down at her and Tarrlok, still neck-deep in the bay. The spheres of lightning in the man’s hands crackle with such energy that she can feel it, even from as far away as they are. “Equalists!”

“No, no!” Korra yells, panicked. Water conducts electricity, she and Tarrlok are in the water, and even being waterbenders won’t save them if even a single spark hits the bay. “Not Equalists!”

She grabs Tarrlok’s hand, and they drag themselves out of the water and stagger up onto shore, weighed down by their heavy fur-lined clothing and boots. Their path is blocked by the police officers. “Who are you, then?” one of them demands. “Refugees? The island is full to capacity, I’m afraid we’ll have to turn you away–”

“No, wait, we’re not refugees–”

“One of you needs to call that animal off! It’s vicious!”

“…Korra?”

Dead silence.

It’s only when she shoves a couple of the policemen out of her face and blinks the saltwater out of her eyes that she is able to distinguish the speaker from the crowd. Bolin steps forward, almost unrecognizable in the uniform of the metalbending police force. His eyes are huge, and she’s never, ever seen him look this shocked. “Is that really you?” he asks quietly. 

She hasn’t had this many people staring at her in stunned silence since the press conference where she challenged Amon to that duel. A few members of the Order and the police force remove their helmets so that they can see better.

Korra swallows over her suddenly dry throat. “Yeah,” she replies, aware that any words she chooses will be totally inadequate. “It’s me.”

She bends the water off herself and Tarrlok, and aside from a few muffled gasps and a couple of exclamations of shock, nobody moves. They’re all staring at her like she’s a ghost come back to life or something equally implausible and creepy, and it’s a disconcerting sensation, to say the least. So she extends her palm and pulls a small flame to it, and bends a chunk of stone away from a nearby boulder, just to confirm, and the looks of stunned, disbelieving awe on their faces… It would have been funny, if it didn’t make her so sad.

Bolin recovers first. He moves forward to hug her, arms outstretched, and–

And the Captain of the Order of the White Lotus points right at Tarrlok. “Seize him!”

Korra feels Tarrlok tense up, at her side, but aside from one small step backward, he doesn’t move to defend himself. She grabs his arm as fast as she can, ignoring the look of confusion on Bolin’s face, and the equally startled expressions of everybody around her. “No,” she says. “Don’t.”

Captain Arata frowns, lowering his hand. “Korra, what…?”

She struggles with her words for a few tense moments before Tarrlok steps in, and when he places his hand on her shoulder, she actually sees the Order and the police officers bristle with anger. “Everything I did before I fled Republic City was terrible beyond words,” he says, casually letting go of her. He’s choosing his words very carefully, she can tell, but she has to admire the way it comes out - sincere and emotional, rather than the calculated, smooth politician tone he had always favored in the past. “And taking Avatar Korra with me when I ran was an equally reprehensible choice, one that I realize has had drastic consequences for the well-being of Republic City, as well as Korra’s family and friends.”

Tarrlok pauses, letting it sink in, and it’s clear that he has the rapt attention of his audience. Their expressions range from confusion and stunned surprise to anger and suspicion, but they’re still listening. “I am truly remorseful for everything I have done. That is why I want to return the Avatar to Republic City, where she belongs, as a genuine apology to her, and to everybody else that I have harmed, directly or indirectly.”

There is a long, tense pause. “In exchange for what?” Captain Arata says, his face twisting with distrust. “You politicians never do something for nothing.”

“Clemency,” Korra cuts in, fighting the urge to fidget as everybody looks toward her. “…A pardon for all of his earlier crimes.”

…And she had thought everybody staring at her like she had just returned from the dead had been bad. That had nothing on everybody staring at her like she’s just lost her mind.

Sitka whines, pacing in circles around her and Tarrlok’s legs. Finally, one of the Republic City policemen turns to Bolin, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Get Councilman Tenzin,” he orders. 

Bolin takes one last look at Korra, hesitating. When she nods, he turns and sprints away, his boots sinking into the sand. He runs as fast as he can, his breath coming fast and hard out of shock, and it still can’t compare to the frantic speed with which the disconnected thoughts race through his mind. He races up the stairs to the main entrance on Air Temple Island and bursts through the door, falling into the former sitting room. It had been fully converted into a war council room in the aftermath of Pema and the kids’ leaving, and Tenzin, Chief Beifong, and Captain Saikhan are sitting at the low table at the center of the room right now, talking in low, serious voices over cups of tea. 

They turn to him, startled at the sudden interruption, and Bolin clutches at the stitch in his side. “She’s back,” he gasps, overwhelmed with emotion. The backs of his eyes are stinging, and he blinks hard, determined not to cry in front of the chief and her second-in-command, no matter what. “She’s here. They sent me to tell you." 

They stare back at him uncomprehendingly. "Who’s here?” Saikhan asks, puzzled.

A frown creases Lin’s brow. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Korra!” Bolin points out the window, in the direction of the coast. His hands shake, and he can’t seem to stop them. “Korra is out there. She just swam right up to the coast a couple of minutes ago!”

Lin freezes, stunned, and Tenzin stands up so fast that a gust of cold air rushes through the room. The sudden motion upsets his cup of tea, which topples over, staining the papers in front of him dark purple. “What?” he demands, all the color draining from his face. “Is she hurt? How is she?”

“It can’t be,” Saikhan says, standing up as well, wiping his palms against his shirt anxiously. “The Order of the White Lotus scouts haven’t had the slightest bit of luck in finding Avatar Korra for the past eight months. Are you absolutely sure it’s her?”

Bolin shakes his head incredulously. “Of course I’m sure! It’s _Korra_! And she looks fine,” he adds hastily, seeing the look on Lin and Tenzin’s faces. “She actually looks okay. She doesn’t look hurt or anything.”

Tenzin closes his eyes, all the breath leaving his body in a long sigh of relief, as he raises his hand to his forehead. “How did this happen?” Lin asks disbelievingly, standing up and striding toward him. “Where has Tarrlok been keeping her for all these months? How did she get away?”

“Uh…” Bolin can’t help but shiver. “She didn’t. He’s on the beach too. But don’t worry!” he hastens to add, upon seeing the horrified expressions on their faces; trying to be reassuring. “He’s not bloodbending anyone or anything, he’s just standing there and holding the dog." 

The three of them exchange bewildered looks. "What?”

Oh, he’s _really_ not doing the best job at this explaining thing. “Apparently coming back was Tarrlok’s idea,” Bolin says, with a nonplussed shrug. “He said he felt bad about what he did to us and Korra, and he felt horrible about kidnapping her, because he realized how wrong it was.” He can’t help but make a face. It had taken him eight whole months to realize that? If he had been Tarrlok, for whatever weird reason, he would have come running back with Korra after a week. “…And when he heard about how bad things were in Republic City, and that just made him feel worse, because he took our Avatar away, basically clearing the path for Amon to go crazy - crazier? - and do whatever he wanted. So Tarrlok decided that he wanted to do the right thing for Korra and the rest of Republic City and bring her back.”

Lin shakes her head, her jaw clenching. “I don’t believe it.”

“I do.” Tenzin folds his arms over his chest. He still looks pale and rattled. “I’ve worked with Tarrlok on the Council for more than three years, and he never does something for nothing. He wants something in return.”

“We can’t make a deal with a criminal like him,” Lin shoots back.

“He brought Korra back–”

“Korra said he wanted clemency.” Bolin interrupts the brewing argument, squirming under the feeling of all their eyes on him. “…To return to Republic City, and not be charged for the bloodbending or the kidnapping. That’s why they sent me to come get you.”

Saikhan sits back down, looking shocked. “Impossible,” he says faintly. “But we might never have recovered the Avatar in time without his cooperation.”

Lin shakes her head wordlessly. “Where are they now?” Tenzin asks, moving purposefully toward the door. 

The tension in the room is so thick that he could cut it with a knife. “Outside, on the coast,” Bolin explains hurriedly. “Come on.”

The young officer leads them outside, and Tenzin follows immediately after him, Lin and Saikhan rushing to catch up. He’s sweating, his heart pounding with adrenaline, his robes sticking to his skin. Even the light sea breeze coming off the ocean and the steady, rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the sand, normally so soothing, does nothing to ease the tension stiffening his muscles. 

This morning, as on every other morning, he had visited the temple on the center of the island. He had lit five incense sticks and made an offering for the safety of each one of his children and Pema, all of them safe in the Fire Nation, under the protection of the Fire Lord. Last but not least, he had lit one more incense stick and made one offering, for Korra. The stick had been scented with citrus, her favorite, and the offering had been a pink rose. He had knelt in front of the altar until his knees had gone stiff, praying that she was alive and relatively well; praying for her safe return. 

Just three days ago, yet another pair of Order of the White Lotus scouts had returned to Republic City from the Earth Kingdom, having investigated four false leads, and found nothing. _The circumstances don’t look good_ , one of the men had said, eyes downcast, arms folded behind his back. He had been one of the group who had come to Republic City from the South Pole, and he had joined the Order when Korra had been six. _We’ve sent over a hundred people out to the Water Tribes, the Fire Nation, and the Earth Kingdom, and we’ve found nothing. At this point, we have to consider…_

_No,_ Tenzin had snapped, his stomach turning. _Don’t even say it._

He had consoled Korra’s parents, beside themselves with worry and grief, and her friends, as well as the population of the city and the rest of the world. That had been the question everybody had asked, at first - Pema, pale with anxiety, the somber-looking press, Korra’s worried friends, and Tonraq and Senna, who could barely say the words out loud. _I don’t think Tarrlok would have killed her,_ Tenzin had said, over and over again, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. _Murder is one of the most evil acts anybody could ever commit, and everybody knows that to murder the Avatar is a crime against all of the spirits. They will seek their revenge._

He hadn’t said the rest aloud, but everybody had been thinking it, especially Korra’s parents. Maybe Tarrlok wouldn’t kill her, but the alternatives were just as frightening and sickening - to imagine him lashing out at her, venting his frustration and rage on her, while she was helpless to fight back against his bloodbending. The thought of Korra being mistreated, scared - wondering why nobody had come to find her - hurt and in pain–

When he had made his prayer for Korra’s safety at sunrise, Tenzin had closed his eyes and envisioned seeing her again, whole and healthy, her terrible ordeal over. Smiling and embracing her parents and Naga; lounging in the sitting room with her friends; laughing with the children and doing waterbending demonstrations for them on the beach. And when he had opened his eyes again, they had been damp. He’d stared at the burning incense stick for a long time, profoundly troubled by the feelings stirring inside him. _You’re not giving up hope, are you? You still believe that it will happen, someday - maybe not this year or the next, but someday, we’ll have her safe back home, where she belongs._

He had never, ever imagined that before the day was over, he would hear this news. They turn the corner, and Tenzin sees the distinctive figures of the Order of the White Lotus and the Republic City police in the distance, standing in a loose cluster around two people. He quickens his stride unconsciously, passing Bolin, until he can make out the people standing at the center of the circle, and the dog sitting beside them. From this distance, they look like nothing more than recent immigrants from the Northern Water Tribe, but…

The circle parts as Tenzin approaches them, the officers stepping aside wordlessly, and he stops dead as he gets his first clear view of them. 

In the weeks immediately following the horror of Korra’s abduction, he had gone through a period of emotional upheaval on a magnitude that he hadn’t experienced since his father’s death. For his entire life, he had always been described as the calm one, the even-tempered one. Kya and Bumi had always been more emotional; more prone to explosive fits of temper. He had shaken his head at them, unable to understand it.

After the Republic City police had left Tarrlok’s cabin in the mountain, after combing through it one last time, searching for any evidence they may have left behind, he had destroyed it, in a fit of rage. Physically ripped it to pieces with gale-force winds, tearing the aged wood apart like it had been nothing more tissue paper. The metal prison where Korra had been held had survived the assault, lying on its side amidst the utter wreckage of the basement. The first thing Tenzin had noticed was how impossibly small it was. Small and dark and cold, and Korra had been trapped in there for almost an entire day, frightened and alone, without food or water, unsure of what was going to happen to her - before being wrenched out and into an even worse nightmare.

He had kicked it, repeatedly. He had slammed his fists into it, over and over again, without bending, imagining it was Tarrlok. With every strike, he thought back to the expression on the police officers’ faces when they had found Korra’s rumpled clothes lying on the bedroom floor. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so consumed with fury. 

For a long time, it had eaten away at Tenzin. He had thought of what he would do when they finally tracked Tarrlok down - look him right in the eye and assure him that although his father had insisted that Yakone not be given the death penalty, he would not make the same mistake.

But now that he’s finally face-to-face with Tarrlok, now that he’s finally within arm’s reach again, close enough for Tenzin to tell him what a vile, disgusting coward he was, for choosing to kidnap Korra and steal her away from everything and everybody she knew and loved just for the sake of keeping himself safe - he doesn’t even want to look at him. All he focuses on is Korra. She’s dressed very unlike herself, in a dark blue Water Tribe dress, her hair done in two long braids - but the important part is that, apart from the worried expression on her face, she looks so unbelievably whole, healthy, unharmed. Just seeing her standing in front of him, her feet sinking into the sand, means that his worst fears, everybody’s worst fears, hadn’t been realized.

When Tenzin says her name, his voice breaks.

Korra pushes past the Order of the White Lotus officers and runs into his outstretched arms, hugging him so hard that he can’t breathe and his ribs feel like they’re going to break from the force of it. She buries her face in his robes, and Tenzin is reminded momentarily of the aftermath of her disastrous confrontation with Amon on Avatar Aang Memorial Island. That had been the first time he had seen Korra cry since she had been a little girl, when the Order of the White Lotus had initially forbidden her from keeping the polar bear-dog puppy she had found wandering outside of the compound. He had been visiting his mother in the South Pole at the time. On the cold stone floor of Memorial Island, he had held her close and stroked her hair as she sobbed, traumatized and frightened. 

_He said he would destroy me,_ she had cried, and Tenzin had inexplicably thought back to the look of joy on the eight-year-old Korra’s face when he had broken the happy news to her; that the Order had changed their mind - after some persuasion by his mother. Korra’s hug had almost knocked him over, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her smile so widely, not even when he had taken her out on his glider during his last visit. _I can finally have a friend,_ she had explained, holding his wrist and leading him over to pet the puppy sleeping in the corner of the room. For the next half hour, Tenzin had patiently listened to Korra’s earnest discussion of all the things she wanted to do with her new friend; all the places she wanted to go.

That night on Memorial Island, months ago, was when it had hit him. He had feared for the city’s safety, for his family’s safety, as the last airbenders, but he had never thought that Amon would dare target the Avatar. _You should leave the task force,_ Tenzin had told her that night, as they had been flying back to the safety of Air Temple Island. He had expected Korra to resist the idea, but she had just nodded, subdued. _Tarrlok won’t be happy about it,_ she murmured tiredly, wiping at her eyes.

_That’s fine,_ he had immediately replied. _I just want you out of Amon’s way._ He would be damned if Amon succeeded in harming Korra - she was so young, after all; her life had just begun. She hadn’t yet traveled the world and seen its wonders and had the hundreds of adventures she had dreamed of as a child.

That night, he’d had yet another terrible nightmare. Instead of Jinora, Ikki, Meelo, or Pema’s body lying crumpled and lifeless, on the steps leading up to the house, it was Korra’s, thrown down from an Equalist airship. Pema had comforted him afterward, as he sat with his head in his hands, shaking. _It’s okay,_ she’d said. _Once she’s off the task force, she’ll be out of Amon’s way for a few months, hopefully, and in that time, she can learn and grow stronger and more able to defend herself with airbending or the Avatar State._ Tenzin had nodded, reassured by the fact that he was going to talk to Tarrlok tomorrow, and that he was doing the right thing. 

How could he have known, at that time, that Korra leaving the task force would have triggered so much bad feeling between Korra and Tarrlok - all of it culminating in that horrible night at City Hall? 

Tenzin hugs her back just as tightly, now, closing his eyes in a futile attempt to keep the tears back. “You’re alive,” he says, trying to reassure himself, hearing his voice choke up. “You’re all right.”

He steps back, gently holding her at arm’s length by the shoulders, and inspecting her carefully. There are no visible bruises anywhere on her face or neck, and Korra hadn’t flinched when he had hugged her, indicating any sore muscles or bones - which means she hasn’t been bloodbent in a few days, at the very least. She looks as healthy and strong as she ever has, with no sign of starvation or malnutrition, but still… “You are all right?” Tenzin asks, lowering his voice.

Korra gives him a small smile, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. “I’m fine,” she says, before turning to Tarrlok.

Tenzin looks at him for the first time - really looks at him - and his first impression is that something about him seems different, in a way that goes much deeper than a simple change of clothes and hairstyle. Seeing him now, it’s hard to believe that this is the same arrogant, power-hungry councilman he had worked alongside for years; who he had confronted at City Hall. 

Upon sensing his gaze on him, Tarrlok quickly looks away, his fingers tightening around the lead of the dog sitting in the sand beside him. His shoulders are slumped, and Tenzin can practically feel the shame and discomfort radiating off him. It’s clear that this isn’t easy for him - that he isn’t as in control of the situation as Tenzin had expected he would be, and of all the responses he had imagined having to seeing Tarrlok again, this hadn’t been one of them. Not this faint stirring of confused gratitude. He didn’t have to, but he had brought Korra back. He could have continued to sit back and watch Republic City burn, and keep Korra captive, but he hadn’t.

One brief look to his right confirms that Lin doesn’t feel the same way. She’s staring right at Tarrlok with an icy expression on her face, her jaw set, fingers flexing, looking even more tense and ready to strike than the dozen officers surrounding them. The fact that she’s having a hard time restraining her temper couldn’t be more obvious, and Tenzin clears his throat. “We should take this inside.”

Lin whirls around, her eyes narrowing. “Are you out of your mind?” she hisses. “And make ourselves sitting ducks, so he can bloodbend us just like last time?”

Korra clears her throat a little unsteadily, before speaking up, her voice loud and firm. “He’s not going to bloodbend anyone.” She looks up at Tarrlok again, and Tenzin feels his shoulders stiffen a little as he realizes that there is a complete and utter absence of fear in her eyes. Unusual, considering their circumstances, to say the least. “Right, Tarrlok?”

“Right,” Tarrlok echoes.

“What,” Lin says, in a dangerously flat voice, at the exact same moment. 

Half of the watching Order of the White Lotus and Republic City police officers stare at their feet. The other half look between Lin and Korra as if they’re watching a pro-bending match. Bolin looks pale, his brow coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his dark hair sticking to his skin. His lips part, as if he wants to say something, but then he bites his lip uncertainly. Tenzin opens his mouth to intercede, but Lin speaks before him, folding her arms over her chest, her disbelieving gaze boring into the young Avatar. “Do you actually expect us to take his word seriously, after all of us know that when he kidnapped you, he lied to the entire city, saying that it was Amon who held you hostage?”

When Korra remains silent, her eyes narrow. “More importantly, do _you_ believe him?”

Korra’s face flushes a dull shade of red, and she swallows once. “I do,” she replies, after a few moments. “For both.” The words come out steadily, in a considerably more measured tone than Tenzin had expected - no yelling, no angry gesticulating - and he blinks, startled by the response, as well as her manner. Lin and the other officers just stare at her, Lin’s frown growing more pronounced, in contrast to the look of outright confusion on the officers’ faces. 

“Tarrlok isn’t going to hurt any of you,” Korra continues, holding her head high. “You heard what we said earlier. And besides, he wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of bringing me back to Republic City from the middle of nowhere in the Earth Kingdom, where he was safe from being arrested, because nobody had found us,” - several members of the Order grimace, more of their gazes dropping to their feet - “…just so he could bloodbend you guys. That doesn’t even make sense.”

Bolin nods silently, taking it in. Korra’s eyes meet his, and Tenzin shakes his head. She does have a point. He can practically hear Lin gritting her teeth. “This man is known to be violent and unbalanced,” she replies, her voice low and tightly controlled. “Who knows what’s going through his mind? This could be a ploy to kill us and install himself as some kind of ultimate authority figure in Republic City, before he uses you as a tool to take down Amon, in order to ensure that he’s not the chairman of a flaming ruin!”

Tenzin hesitates, shifting his weight between his feet uncertainly. Now that she mentions it, it does seem plausible. Tarrlok has always been power-hungry, and living in secluded anonymity in the middle of nowhere doesn’t seem like it would suit him. A muscle in Tarrlok’s jaw twitches in response to the accusation, his shoulders stiffening as if he’s been hit. Korra sends one look at him, and Tenzin can practically see him bite his tongue in an effort to keep silent. His confusion mounts. _What is going on here?_

“He is not violent or unbalanced,” Korra argues, gesturing at the way he’s holding the dog, some strain creeping into her voice. “And he’s definitely not a murderer! I’ve spent every single day of the past eight months with him, and he’s never hurt me. Ever. Look, just hear us out. You’ve got to see how unrealistic it would be, for him to pretend to be good and nice to me for eight months, and then do what you said.”

“It’s not unrealistic at all!” Lin snaps. “You’re more naive than I thought, if you don’t see it. I’m putting an end to this charade right now. I won’t have him endangering everybody on this island, and one right doesn’t cancel a wrong. He’s not getting clemency for his crimes.”

Tenzin takes a step forward, alarmed. “Lin, I’m not sure that this is wise. We need to think about this and consider–”

Lin shakes her head sharply. “The Republic City police are under my jurisdiction, Tenzin. I’m acting in the interests of the safety of the community. You’ll thank me later.”

Tarrlok takes an instinctive, nervous step back, and the dog at his side stands abruptly, stiffening and growling at the surrounding police officers, its hackles raising. To Tenzin’s surprise, Tarrlok’s hands don’t move to a waterbending or bloodbending position, not even when Lin and the metalbending police officers encircle him, Bolin with some hesitation. Tarrlok’s fingers twitch, before curling into white-knuckled fists at his sides. “Sitka,” he says. “No. Go to Korra." 

The Order remains still, uncertainty written on their faces, and that is when Korra steps in front of Tarrlok and the dog protectively. She spreads her arms, but doesn’t bring fire to her palms, and Tenzin notices that her hands are shaking a little. "No,” she says, with more cold calmness than he had expected. “I don’t think so.”

The police officers all hesitate now, sending Lin and Saikhan quick, uncertain glances. “Avatar Korra,” Saikhan, with surprising patience. “You are obstructing justice. Get out of the way.”

“No,” Korra repeats, her feet sinking further into the sand, her gaze jumping between each member of the police force and the Order, lingering on Bolin’s - who now looks like he’s alarmingly close to being sick right there on the beach. “Tarrlok did the right thing by choosing to bring me back - when he could have kept me there for years and years more, without consequences - and he shouldn’t be punished for it. You need to trust him.”

“We can’t. I really am sorry for this,” Lin says quietly. “Get her out of the way." 

Saikhan and a corporal’s wires shoot out at the same time, heading straight for Korra’s arms and waist with impossible speed. "No!” Bolin yells, panicked, breaking ranks and leaping toward them. Korra’s eyes widen as Tarrlok pulls her out of the way, but the wires never make contact. One boulder slams into each of the metal cables, derailing them and sending Saikhan and the corporal flying, while narrow prisons of rock leap up from the ground, trapping every single police officer, save for Lin, in columnar cells. All six of the Order of the White Lotus members step forward and in front of Korra and Tarrlok protectively, encircling them, settling into fighting stances. 

“How dare you?” Lin snaps, freeing her officers with one terse motion of her hand, and once they’re able, all of them assume offensive stances as well. 

Captain Arata of the Order stares back at her evenly. “You will not harm our charge.”

Tenzin stares in shock at the face-off, and through the gap in the bodies, Korra’s eyes meet his. She doesn’t look panicked or tearful anymore, but surprisingly calm, and there’s something strangely, uncannily familiar about the expression that makes him freeze. “Tenzin,” she says. “Please. It’s…it’s just like what happened with Avatar Aang and Fire Lord Zuko, back when he was just a prince. He did some terrible things too, and everybody was suspicious of him, but he never hurt Aang or Katara or any of their friends. He really did feel bad about everything he had done, and he wanted to help them.”

Tenzin is vaguely aware of Lin’s retort, that this isn’t the same thing at all. She looks at him, waiting for him to react, but he can’t seem to glance away from the silent plea on Korra’s face. 

What would Aang have done?

He doesn’t even have to think about it for more than a couple of seconds.

“Step aside,” he says to the Order of the White Lotus. They break ranks, looking at him warily, and he walks into the circle, placing a hand on Korra’s shoulder and looking squarely at Lin and the Republic City police. “Avatar Korra is under my protection. And I think we should hear her out.” Tenzin hesitates momentarily, looking around the assembled crowd. Yakone had managed to bloodbend everybody in the courtroom, in his father’s time, and that had been approximately twenty people. Right now, there are twenty-five people on the island, which may be beyond Tarrlok’s power. Besides, Korra had spoken on his behalf…and he, and most other people, had always been raised to understand that an Avatar’s instincts were worthy of trust. He doesn’t think that applies any less to Korra than it had to his father.

Saikhan fidgets apprehensively, and Lin’s lips twist in a frown, but she can see that he has his mind made up. She steps back, gesturing for her officers to do so as well. “Fine,” she says tersely. “But we’re not letting you do this alone.”

Tenzin feels Korra’s shoulders slump in relief. “Thank you,” she says softly, looking up at him.

He steps forward, Korra and Tarrlok and the dog following close behind him. The Order of the White Lotus surrounds them at the sides, the Republic City Police falling in behind them. The sensation of having Tarrlok at his unprotected back is disconcerting, but Korra’s presence reassures him - as well as the fact that Tarrlok hadn’t used his bending when the situation had looked most dire, when he had been about to be arrested. 

They make their way back to the house in silence. The Order and the police officers file into the room, standing around the perimeter, silent and watchful and tense. Korra hands her dog’s lead to Bolin. He grips her hand for a moment, and she squeezes back, giving him a small, reassuring smile. Tenzin gestures toward the table stiffly, remembering the last time Tarrlok had entered this room, so long ago - when he had interrupted dinner in order to meet Korra for the first time, and attempt persuading her to join his task force. He can’t quite hide his surprise when, after a moment of hesitation, Korra seats herself beside him, rather than at the side where he, Lin, Saikhan, and the captain of the Order of the White Lotus settle.

Lin is the one to break the silence. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she says, but she lifts her hand in order to forestall Korra’s reply. “Captain Saikhan, Captain Arata, and I will have a talk with the former councilman and determine his motivations. Tenzin, you should talk to Korra in private, and try and determine if she’s being coerced into defending Tarrlok–”

He had expected Korra to jump at the chance to talk to somebody alone and have a safe space, but she bristles, instead. “I am not!” Korra snaps, glowering at Lin. “I’m an adult, not a little kid, I can think for myself!" 

Lin looks back at her skeptically, and Tenzin clears his throat, trying to diffuse the situation. "I think that we might come to an understanding faster if we have separate discussions,” he says diplomatically, standing up and offering a hand to Korra.

She gives Lin one last, resentful scowl before acquiescing, and Tenzin watches as Tarrlok looks up at her, carefully searching for any hint of threat in his expression; anything that might serve to intimidate Korra against speaking up. There is nothing that he can see, and her expression softens. She follows him to the kitchen without comment, but once Tenzin closes the door behind them, Korra kicks the leg of the table with an ill-tempered growl. “Ugh, I forgot how frustrating she can be!”

Tenzin can’t help but smile at the glimpse of the Korra he remembers. “She’s just worried about you, Korra.”

Korra throws herself down into one of the chairs and gives him a resigned, one-shouldered shrug. “I told you I was fine, Tenzin. She heard.”

Tenzin sighs, taking a seat across from her. “You have to understand…” He trails off, rubbing his head ruefully. “It’s been a shock, to say the least. Mako, Bolin, and Asami have said from the beginning that they expected you to escape and come back to us, but none of us ever thought that it would happen like this. The fact that you not only showed up with Tarrlok, but defended him like that…”

Korra sits up a little straighter. “Where are Mako and Asami, by the way? Are they okay? And how are Pema and the kids? Pema must have had the baby months ago, right?”

Tenzin laughs softly at the barrage of questions. “Mako and Asami are fine, and they will be very happy to see that you’re back. They should be getting home in another half hour or so. The children are all well, although they’ve missed you terribly. Pema gave birth to a healthy little boy six months ago, and we named him Rohan.”

Korra sighs happily, obviously relieved. “That’s great! I missed everybody so much, and I can’t wait to meet Rohan. Are they all asleep now?”

“Yes, but not here.” He elaborates, in response to her puzzled expression. “The situation in Republic City worsened dramatically a couple of months after Rohan was born. Pema and I decided that for the children’s safety, it would be best for them to get out of Republic City, to somewhere where they would be safe from the Equalists. They’re in the Fire Nation now, under the protection of the Fire Lord.”

Korra frowns. “It’s too bad that they had to leave, but I’m glad they’re safe. That’s good.”

“Yes, it is,” he agrees. “We can call them tomorrow morning, if you want, but first I want to talk to you about everything that happened with Tarrlok.”

Korra hesitates, reaching up to her neck to toy with the carved, brilliant blue stone that rests against the hollow of her neck. It’s startlingly familiar; something that he had seen every single day from childhood to adulthood, first on his mother and then on his sister, and Tenzin stiffens. “Why are you wearing a betrothal necklace?”

Korra releases the stone quickly, as if burned. “It’s just part of the disguise, that’s all.” She picks up the half-full glass of water that somebody had been drinking out of earlier and shrugs, taking a sip. “I guess I’ll start from the beginning. Tarrlok took us to Shanying, this tiny little town in the southeast corner of the Earth Kingdom, off the coast.”

Tenzin sighs. “A rural area. Of course. We weren’t sure whether he would do that or decide to take you to an urban center, so you could blend into anonymity along with the thousands of other people living there.”

“He had the idea that we should pose as a married couple, to avoid attracting suspicion, and he wanted us to be non-benders too, so that we would be even more different from our real selves.” Korra traces a pattern with her finger on the table, her gaze losing some focus. Her voice gets quieter, to the point where Tenzin has to lean in a little to hear her. “He bought this little house for us, and I didn’t have to stay in a metal box anymore. He said that I could do what I want, as long as I didn’t use my bending in front of anyone or tell them the truth, of course. During the first couple of weeks, I expected that the Order or the Republic City police would show up at any time and arrest him and take me back to Republic City, so I wasn’t that upset. But the days kept passing, and nobody came, and eventually I knew that they wouldn’t find us.”

There’s a sick, twisting sensation in his heart. They had all failed her. He had, by letting her sneak out to City Hall late at night in the first place; by not talking to her more that night and not going to bed until he knew that she had calmed down, and afterwards, the Order and the Republic City police had as well. They should have known that Tarrlok would have stayed away from the North Pole, because of the fact that it was the obvious choice. They should have guessed that Tarrlok would avoid the Fire Nation, because it’s still relatively rare to see waterbenders settle there, considering their tumultuous history. “Korra…”

“It’s okay.” She looks up at him and attempts a smile. “I mean, the world is huge, right? And we were just two people. So then I tried to break my spiritual block and get into the Avatar State so I could smash Tarrlok and take away his bloodbending, but you know that it doesn’t just work like that.”

“No,” he replies ruefully. She must have felt so alone, without even the strength of her past lives to call on. “It doesn’t.”

“After that, I just tried to fight Tarrlok and run away.” Korra winces, rubbing the back of her neck. “But you know…bloodbending.”

“I thought you said he didn’t hurt you?” Tenzin replies sharply.

“He didn’t. He would just hold me still and lecture me about how fighting back was stupid. Then he’d block my chi points, so I couldn’t attack him again.” Korra sighs, short and sharp, her frustration obvious. Then she fidgets in her seat, looking down at the floor. “I got so desperate to fight back that I did something I shouldn’t have,” she confesses, her voice barely audible. “I…um…”

Tenzin rests his hand on hers gently. “It’s okay.”

She withdraws, curling her hand into a fist. “I taught myself how to bloodbend. I practiced on animals, just like Hama did.”

Tenzin can’t help the quick, startled intake of breath that escapes him, and he hates himself for it when Korra’s shoulders slump even further. “I’m sorry,” he says hastily. “I shouldn’t judge you. Nobody should. You were in a terrible situation.”

Korra shakes her head slowly. For the first time, he notices that she looks older than he remembers, and so different from the cheerful, carefree girl who had first arrived in Republic City. “No, it’s fine. What I did was wrong, and there’s no excuse. That’s why I never bloodbended Tarrlok…I couldn’t even bring myself to master bloodbending on a wolf-cat in the woods.”

They are both silent for some time, and when Korra rests her head in her hands, Tenzin gets up, quietly fixing both of them cups of tea. “There was one good thing that came out of it, though,” she finally says, wrapping her hands around the warm cup of plum tea, and looking up at him shyly. “I meditated afterward, and I finally got to see Avatar Aang in the Spirit World.”

Tenzin chokes on his tea, setting the cup down on the table hard. “Korra, that’s wonderful news!” He had assumed that Korra would be under too much emotional strain, in her situation, to make the spiritual breakthrough she needed. Evidently, he had been wrong, and he can’t remember the last time he had smiled this hard - probably not since Rohan’s birth. At least his father would have been able to offer Korra some comfort, guidance, and advice.

She nods happily. “It was amazing, just like your mom told me it would be. Appa found me first, and we flew down to this place that looked just like the South Pole. Avatar Aang was there, in the same form that he was in when Master Katara and your Uncle Sokka found him in the iceberg, and he took me penguin sledding and everything!”

Tenzin blinks the tears away, remembering the last time he and his father had made the trip to the South Pole with Appa. The old, beloved sky bison had passed on just a month before Avatar Aang did. “I’m so glad that you were able to talk to him.”

“Me too. It was really helpful. He…understood, like you did, about the whole bloodbending thing, but he explained to me that I was going about trying to regain my freedom all wrong.”

Tenzin raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

Korra takes a sip of her tea. “He said that this was an important lesson for me to learn for later in my life and my Avatar duties, and it was a problem I needed to solve without using force. He told me that the key to getting out was…basically to befriend Tarrlok.”

Tenzin shakes his head, suppressing the urge to sigh. Of course. Of course, out of all the things, that would be the advice that his father would give Korra. It doesn’t surprise him at all. “And you agreed?”

“Yeah,” she replies simply. “I did. I mean, it was Avatar Aang’s advice. Wouldn’t you?”

He’s forced to nod, and Korra continues. “We lived together, so it wasn’t that hard. Tarrlok was always nice to me as long as I wasn’t attacking him, anyway. He never liked bloodbending me. So when I stopped trying to fight him and started acting friendly back, he was happy that I had finally come around.” She shrugs again. “We got along fine. He treated me really nicely. He even found me our dog - Sitka - because he knew how much I missed Naga." 

Tenzin stares at her, trying to take it all in. The thought of Korra and Tarrlok as friends, genuinely on peaceful terms, is disconcerting. He can hardly wrap his mind around it. But then, stranger things have happened. For the longest time, Fire Lord Zuko had been hell-bent on capturing his father, and handing him over to the former Fire Lord, Ozai, in order to restore his honor - and Ozai would have killed Aang, no questions asked. Zuko had once attacked his mother’s village in the South Pole, and threatened to burn it down, if Aang didn’t submit to captivity. He had attacked another village and burned homes to the ground on Kyoshi Island, trying to get to Aang. As a child, he had heard Zuko describe himself, during that time, as _selfish, obsessed, ruthless, and consumed with rage_. Zuko had acknowledged that he had done terrible, destructive things to Aang and his friends, and put their lives, among others’, at risk numerous times, before he had realized the error of his ways. 

After he had repented and atoned for his mistakes, though, Zuko and Aang had shared a deep, lifelong friendship. Neither of them would have imagined such a thing possible during the first several months that they had known each other. 

It does make sense, in a way, the idea of Tarrlok desiring a peaceful, amicable relationship with Korra; rather than wanting to punish her and take out his frustration on her. In all the years he had known Tarrlok, prior to the events that had taken place last winter…he had never known the other man to be cruel or malicious. Arrogant, power-hungry, and politically ruthless, yes. But one thing that had always struck him about Tarrlok was how, through his clever manipulations and mind games, he could always win people over; put them firmly on his side. Tarrlok wanted to be liked, in a way that went deeper than every politician’s desire to be popular in order to have greater levels of influence. He wanted to be considered the city’s hero, the people’s champion. This was not a man who would enjoy living with the knowledge, day in and day out, that Korra despised him for what he had done to her. 

"All right,” Tenzin says, finally. As strange and unusual as this tale is, it is a relief to hear that Korra’s time in captivity doesn’t seem to be as nightmarish as he and everybody else had feared.

Korra looks down into her tea, a thoughtful expression sliding onto her face. “I guess what Aang was trying to tell me was that Tarrlok was never such a horrible person after all. As time went on and we got closer and started to talk more, I found out that he regretted everything that happened in Republic City, with attacking and bloodbending me, and taking me away, and bloodbending you and Lin and everyone else. He really was sorry about it, but he felt like he had no choice.”

Tenzin closes his eyes, thinking back to that afternoon; to the expression on Tarrlok’s face in the instant before he had begun to bloodbend. “Really?" 

"Really. We talked about it. And…at one point, I asked him, if he really felt so bad, why didn’t he just let me go back?” Korra scrapes her fingernail against the edge of the table, appearing lost in thought. “I had let him know how much I missed my parents, and everyone back here. He knew how sad I was about it. And sometimes we would get the Republic City Times and the Earth Kingdom Times newspapers, and see things about what was going on in Republic City, like when all those police officers got kidnapped and Amon took their bending, and when Amon said that he wiped out all the bending triads…”

Tenzin grimaces at the memory of the kidnappings, and Korra continues. “Tarrlok was the chairman of the council for all these years. I totally agree with you in that he went about protecting it in all the wrong ways, but he loved this city, and he didn’t want to see it fall to Amon. And, well…” she shrugs wryly. “Both of us knew that it was my job, as the Avatar, to stop him. Things went downhill so fast after Tarrlok took me away.”

Tenzin takes a sip of his tea, trying to organize his thoughts. “He agreed, evidently.”

“He was just worried because he knew that coming back to Republic City would mean that he could be in jail for the rest of his life, or be killed, because of the whole bloodbending and kidnapping thing.” Korra grimaces. “Which he regretted anyway. I kept talking to him about it, though. Eventually, he asked me whether I thought that if he brought me back, it would be enough to get him out of the crimes he had committed before leaving - considering the fact that…he didn’t hurt any of you guys badly, just knocked you out…and that he didn’t hurt me badly either…”

Tenzin sighs, feeling a headache coming on. “Korra…”

“I said yes,” she interrupts, shrugging helplessly. “I mean, it seemed like a fair trade to me. Tarrlok isn’t a criminal. He’s not a bad person. He hadn’t bloodbended in twenty years before the thing with me. He won’t ever do this again, Tenzin. Trust me." 

Tenzin watches her for a few moments, remembering her reaction to Lin’s accusation that she was being coerced, and choosing his words carefully. "Korra, I understand that you said what you had to in order to get him to bring you back, but…”

Korra frowns, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “But what?”

“We’re alone here. You can be honest with me.” He glances at the closed kitchen door, lowering his voice. “All things considered, do you really want Tarrlok to walk free? He attacked you, held you captive in the mountains, and bloodbended and kidnapped you. He held you hostage for eight months and restricted your freedom. You’ve obviously coped with this situation with incredible strength, but the fact is that you were the victim of a terrible crime.”

Korra blinks at him uncertainly. “I…I don’t think of myself as a victim…”

“I realize that.” Tenzin looks at her, unable to conceal his worry. “But I want you to know that all you have to do is say the word, and Tarrlok will face the appropriate consequences for his actions.”

She shifts restlessly, knotting her fingers together. “What would those be?" 

He hesitates. "I’m not sure, considering the fact that he did return you to us in sound physical and mental health.”

Korra shakes her head forcefully, her braids flying and the bone ornaments in them clinking together. “Either way, I promised him that if he brought me back, he wouldn’t be punished for it.”

Tenzin exhales slowly, massaging his temples. “Korra, you were being held captive. You said and did what you had to do to survive, and you can’t be held accountable for any promises that you made at that time. You’re back in Republic City. You don’t have to continue this alliance - friendship - whatever.”

“I know,” she replies coolly. “But I want to. And don’t look at me like that!” she snaps, taking him by surprise, and he hastily schools his features back into a neutral expression. “I’m not crazy. If you lived with someone for eight months, you’d bond with them too.”

Tenzin shakes his head, biting back a reply, in an attempt to keep from derailing the conversation. These other things can be addressed later; otherwise, the two of them will be here all night. And he can’t help but remember hearing of his parents’ friends equally shocked reactions to the possibility of Zuko joining their group, living with them, traveling with them…and that sows even more seeds of doubt into his mind. He shakes his head as well, trying to clear it. “That is beside the point. Furthermore, you didn’t have the authority to even make a promise like that." 

Korra stares back at him mulishly. "I’m the Avatar." 

Tenzin feels himself turning red. "Yes, but–”

“And I was the one who was kidnapped, remember? My word should count for something, then.”

“Korra–”

“Aang got to decide that Zuko could stay!” Korra slams her cup of tea down on the table and stands up angrily, pushing her chair back from the table so hard that the legs make a hideous squeak against the floor. “And look how that turned out. Master Katara had doubts about what Aang said, too, but it ended up being okay. Zuko didn’t betray all of them and kill them in their sleep. Where would we be without trust, Tenzin? Not everybody who does bad things is a bad person who stays bad forever! And not everybody who has bad parents is doomed to be evil forever, either. You of all people should know that.”

Her gaze bores into him, and once again, disconcertingly, Tenzin is reminded of his father. “…Fine,” he says shortly, at last. “I am conflicted about this, but I will support you, Korra.”

She relaxes somewhat, all the breath leaving her body in a relieved sigh, before she smiles at him gratefully. “Thanks, Tenzin.”

He gives her a gentle hug, and she wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight, in her usual enthusiastic embrace. _I hope I don’t come to regret this,_ he thinks, as they pull apart, and she beams at him.

They make their way back to the sitting room in silence. The room is quiet, when they walk in, and the tension is so thick that it’s almost tangible. Lin has her arms crossed, looking troubled. Captain Saikhan and Arata appear equally uncomfortable, and Tarrlok sits with his back straight, looking on edge; the dark circles underneath his eyes especially pronounced. 

“What decision did you come to?” Lin asks brusquely, as they approach the table.

Tenzin rests a hand on Korra’s shoulder. “I believe that Korra is acting entirely out of her own free will,” he says slowly, looking down at the young Avatar. “I trust her completely, and based on what she has told me, I think we should acquiesce to the former councilman’s terms.”

Saikhan and Arata exchange glances. “We agree,” Saikhan adds reluctantly. “All things considered…we may never have found Avatar Korra for years - if at all - if not for the former Councilman Tarrlok’s remarkable change of heart. Such a state of events would have been a terrible loss for the world, as well as the Avatar’s family and friends. Now, we have hope that the Avatar’s return may help turn the tides in the anti-bending revolution.”

“Well,” Lin says grimly, looking between Korra and Tarrlok, and finally, to Tenzin. When he doesn’t speak up, she closes her eyes briefly, shaking her head. Her disagreement with Saikhan and Arata couldn’t be more clear. “It looks like it’s settled, then. In exchange for the safe return of Avatar Korra, the former councilman is officially pardoned for his eight counts of bloodbending, one count of kidnapping, and three counts of endangerment of the Avatar. However, any further acts of violence - no matter how minor - will negate the pardon completely, and you will then have to face the appropriate penalties, which most likely will be life in prison or execution, depending on what the council decrees. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Tarrlok says quietly, evenly, bowing his head. Beside him, Tenzin hears Korra’s soft sigh of relief, and he exhales slowly, trying to come to terms with the wave of anger and resentment, and the old frustration, that washes over him. As thankful as he is for Korra’s safe return…how is it that no matter what outrageous things he does or proposes, Tarrlok always comes out on top? “I understand.”

“We will give you the paperwork first thing tomorrow.”

Korra glances down at the floor, and she isn’t sure whether it’s hunger that’s making her feel so faint, or the relief and release of tension. The sound of a door slamming distracts her, and she looks up sharply, her muscles stiffening, her stomach curling up with fear. If all of the members of the Order of the White Lotus and the Republic City police force are in here right now, to keep an eye on Tarrlok, that means that there’s nobody patrolling the beaches. If the Equalists have submarines, they could easily get to Air Temple Island, despite the lack of the ferry…

“Where is everybody?”

The voice comes from the kitchen, faint and confused, and just like that, it takes her back almost a year - violently wrenching her out of here, inside this body, and into the past. Back to the pro-bending arena, before everything had gone to hell, when the only time they had ever fought alongside each other was when they were facing other pro-bending teams. Back when the worst thing they had to protect one another from was a rock to the shoulder or a water whip that would trip someone up. It reminds her of the smell of sweat and gym equipment, the bright lights, the way the floor of the ring felt underneath her feet. It takes her to the early morning practice sessions, all of their voices raspy from exhaustion and their limbs stiff and tired. And the afternoon practices, after which they would pick up bowls of spicy noodles from one of the street vendors outside the arena, and eat them right on the steps, too exhausted and famished to even walk up to the apartment. _Be careful_ , Mako would say, watching her and Bolin laugh and stick their chopsticks up their noses ( _“Ostrich walrus! No, walrus-rooster!”_ ) with a look of mild alarm on his face, _you’ll choke._

“I don’t know,” Korra hears another familiar voice reply, closer this time, and equally puzzled.

They step through the door together, and it takes her a moment to recognize them. Mako wears the same police uniform as Bolin, while Asami wears the same outfit she remembers from months ago, her long hair tied back into a ponytail. The two of them pause upon entering and take in the sight before them, looking stunned. 

It’s Mako that sees her first, and his jaw drops, the color draining from his face. “Korra?” he says, quietly, disbelievingly.

Korra swallows over her dry throat, and gives him and Asami the most awkward little wave ever. “Hey.”

The two of them rush over and hug her in unison, so tightly that it knocks the breath from her body. Her face gets shoved painfully hard against Mako’s shoulder, and she ends up with an accidental mouthful of Asami’s hair, and when she tries to breathe, she can’t help but laugh a little out of sheer happiness - the two of them and Bolin actually remember her, they’re happy to see her and still think of her as a friend, they _missed_ her - even as her eyes sting with tears.

“You’re okay,” Mako says, his voice hoarse with emotion, as he lets go of her. “I - you - how did you get back? When? Are you okay?”

Asami pulls a handkerchief out from one of her pockets and gently presses it into her hand. “We missed you so much, Korra.”

Korra rubs it against her face with a slightly shaking hand, trying to regain her composure. “Thanks. I…”

She trails off, taken by surprise by the sudden change in Mako’s expression, and the way his eyes narrow, eyebrows drawing together in a scowl. He takes a step away from them, and Asami twitches, startled, as he pulls two huge fireballs, crackling with energy, to his palms. To Korra’s horror, his gaze zones in on Tarrlok, kneeling on the other side of the table from Beifong, Saikhan, and Captain Arata. 

“What is he doing here?” Mako demands, looking as if he’s torn between the urge to recoil in horror and rush forward to attack. “Why is everybody just standing around? Do something!”

Lin starts to speak, but Bolin cuts her off, stepping away from the wall and waving his hands in worry, dropping Sitka’s lead. “No, no!” he exclaims, while Sitka takes a step forward, growling at Mako. “We’re not attacking him! He’s good now, or something! He brought Korra back and everything’s good!”

Lin sighs. “…Well, that’s one way to put it,” she says, in an undertone.

Mako and Asami give Korra dumbfounded looks, and she fidgets. “What?” Mako asks, the flames in his hands flickering out. “Are you kidding?”

“No. It’s…” Korra shakes her head, briefly lost for words. And she had thought talking to Tenzin about this had been hard. All three of her friends are looking at her as if she’s just sprouted a lion-turtle shell on her back. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Tenzin rests a hand on his shoulder, clearing his throat. “Now that we’ve reached a consensus, there’s business that we need to discuss with Tarrlok,” he says mildly. “If you and your friends want to go outside…”

Korra looks up at him uncertainly. Her first instinct is to refuse, because what if they arrest Tarrlok and take him away as soon as she leaves? But this is Tenzin, she remembers, in the next instant. He is the most trustworthy person she knows, and he had given her his word. He won’t betray her like that. She glances over at Tarrlok, then, briefly, around Tenzin’s arm. She doesn’t want him to feel like she’s abandoning him at the first opportunity, not when they’ve already had to spend most of tonight away from each other. 

He can’t say anything, of course, but he gives her the same look that he would always give her whenever she was confused or upset, and he would hold her in his arms and touch her face lightly, reassuringly. _It’s all right, Korra._

Korra turns back to Mako, Bolin, and Asami, and the sight of the three of them, standing together, sends a faint stirring of happiness through her. “Come on,” she says, snapping her fingers and calling Sitka to her side. “Let’s go." 

-

_to be continued_

-


	12. Part Twelve

The four of them and Sitka stay quiet until the second the door closes behind them, and they’re outside again, underneath the night sky.

That is when all of them exchange looks and immediately start talking at once - except for Sitka, of course, who lingers near Korra’s side, eyeing the three unfamiliar teenagers curiously.

Mako gestures back at the closed door, his confusion obvious. “What happened back there? What was Bolin saying? Tarrlok actually _chose_ to bring you back?”

“Where did he take you guys? It must have been a good hiding spot, since the Order of the White Lotus couldn’t find you anywhere.” Bolin stumbles on a rock, before kicking it aside.

“Wait, hold on, so you guys are cops now?” Korra asks, puzzled. “Asami, did you join the police force too?”

Asami touches her arm lightly. “Tarrlok didn’t hurt you, right?”

Mako stops dead, flinging his arms out in frustration. “One at a time! Could someone please catch Asami and I up?”

Korra coughs, trying to hide her amusement at the look on his face. “Nope. I’m asking questions and getting caught up first because I was the one who was gone, so you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Mako glowers, and Asami and Bolin laugh. “I have been waiting and _waiting_ for somebody to tell me that for the last eight months,” Bolin sighs, leading the way down the stone steps that will take them from the courtyard to the beach. “Chief Beifong is great and all, but that’s totally your line.”

“Oh, I know.” Korra beams as they step onto the beach, admiring the moon’s reflection on the dark water. She and Tarrlok had lived on the coast in the Earth Kingdom, but there’s still nothing like being back here, where everything is so familiar. “So you’re all members of the police force now?” She glances at Mako and Bolin’s uniforms. Mako wears the standard Republic City police uniform, while Bolin has the slightly different outfit worn by the metalbending forces. Asami isn’t in uniform, though.

“Yeah - well, Bolin and I are, but Asami isn’t.” Mako explains. “A few months after you went missing, Amon and the Equalists started kidnapping as many bending members of the police force that they could get their hands on, and he took their bending. The metalbending and the general forces were hit hard, so we decided to join.”

Korra nods, taking it in, before turning to Asami. She grimaces, unlatching her shoulder bag, and pulls out a pair of those eerie, luminescent green goggles. _Equalist_ goggles, and Korra stops dead, startled. 

“You could say that I’m a double agent, of sorts,” Asami says, letting the goggles slide back into her bag. She clasps it hastily, rubbing her fingers against the leather as if trying to clean them, and her lips twist in a frown. “The city government and the police needed an inside source on the Equalists…and my father made it very clear that if I decided to join them, he would accept me with open arms and forgive all of my past _transgressions_.”

She spits the word, and Korra stares in surprise. Throughout the history lessons she had growing up, she had learned how difficult and dangerous it was to be a spy during wartime, and she feels a twinge of sympathy for her friend. Not just for the risks inherent in her job, but…for the past eight months, she had missed her dad so much. She can’t even imagine what it must be like for Asami, to be on opposing sides from her own father - the only family she has left. 

“So I went to one of the Equalist bases and met with him. I said that I was so sorry for what I had done, and I couldn’t stand that we had been torn apart. I wanted to reunite our family. And he, Amon, and the Lieutenant didn’t suspect a thing,” Asami continues, in clipped tones, and Korra fights the urge to shudder at the name. The fact that she had actually met Amon, sat at the same table with him, and talked to him…just the thought of facing him makes her sick. She can’t imagine it. 

“Before I met with them, Chief Beifong and I were concerned about how the logistics of our plan would work, like how I would get away from the base to meet up with her agents to report information to them. It turned out that it wasn’t an issue. Amon came up with the idea of using me as a source for them. I would keep living on Air Temple Island, and I would feed them information.” Asami shrugs. “So that’s what I’ve been doing for the past few months. I give the Equalists some information about our activities; mostly inconsequential, minor things, but still information that they wouldn’t have been able to get without me. And at the same time, I give Chief Beifong the intelligence that I pick up while I’m at their bases and warehouses, working on the new technology.”

“That’s amazing,” Korra says, with feeling, but she can’t help but think back to her confrontation with Hiroshi Sato’s horrible mecha-tanks, so long ago. The man was genial and appeared harmless on the outside, sure, but that was only a front to hide the ruthlessness that lay underneath. If he ever discovered the truth about what his daughter was doing… “Amon and the Equalists don’t suspect anything, right?" 

Asami shakes her head. "We’ve taken care to bide our time and not act in any way that would make them suspicious of me. By the time they figure it out, it’ll be too late for them.”

“Basically,” Bolin cuts in, grinning, and he strikes a warrior pose, flexing his muscles. “All of us have gotten even more badass while you’ve been gone. I think we’ve made you proud, right?”

Korra laughs, throwing one arm around his shoulder and giving him an affectionate squeeze. “Of course.” She hesitates, lifting a hand to rub the back of her neck self-consciously. “You guys have no idea how I worried I was about you - being stuck here, with everything going on. I’m _so_ glad that you’re all okay.”

Mako rests a hand on her shoulder. “Same here.”

“It makes us feel so much better that you’re here,” Asami adds, smiling. “Team Avatar is finally complete again.”

“And ready to take back our city,” Korra replies, pounding her fist into her open hand. Until arriving in Republic City, all that she had felt at the prospect of entering the conflict again had been fear and apprehension. She hadn’t expected this wild, heady influx of courage and adrenaline. Despite the dangerous circumstances and great personal risk, her friends had shown courage, and stepped up to the front lines. They hadn’t run away or barricaded themselves into an apartment, waiting for the fighting to cease. 

All of them had done their part in the fight against Amon, and now it’s her turn. And together - using the inside information Asami supplied, Mako and Bolin’s involvement in the police force, and her own support, maybe they can turn the tides of the revolution in their favor. They can strike the bases and destroy the Equalists’ weapons and airships. And when they are weakened because of that, maybe Amon will be willing to listen to what she has to say. 

It is then, in a moment of distraction, that she notices it - when Asami stumbles on a rock, Mako catches her by the hand, intertwining their fingers together. They stay like that, and Korra glances away, not wanting to look like she’s staring. She had wondered, for a moment, when they had walked into Air Temple Island together–

But to her surprise, she feels…nothing. The sight of them together brings her no pain at all, and it is so unlike the resentment and sorrow that had been so overwhelmingly intense in the past.

They reach the edge of the sand, waves lapping against their feet, and Bolin uses earthbending to carve a throne from a boulder. He flings himself down on it, while Mako rolls his eyes. “Show-off,” he says affectionately, ruffling his younger brother’s hair and making it stand on end.

“Hey, hands off the hair, and I’ll make you a throne too! Korra, Asami, would you lovely ladies also like to try the remarkable services of master furniture-maker Bolin?”

Korra laughs, climbing on top of a nearby rock and sitting on it. “I’m good. And we should totally have a contest soon. I’m a pro at furniture-making.”

She gestures once, and a footrest protrudes from Bolin’s throne. He flings his feet up on it enthusiastically, and she grins down at her hands. It feels good, being able to bend freely, like she used to.

Mako and Asami settle down on the sand, and after some thought, Sitka lies down in front of Korra’s boulder, next to Mako. He edges away nervously. “It’s okay,” Korra assures him, reaching down to pet the dog. “Don’t worry. She’s really gentle and sweet, like Naga - the only reason she got upset earlier was because she thought you were going to hurt Tarrlok.”

She regrets the explanation in the next second. At the mention of Tarrlok’s name, the lighthearted mood vanishes, and everybody’s expressions shift into something more serious. Bolin averts his eyes, while Asami bites her lip and looks at the sea, and Mako frowns. “You never answered my question,” he says. “What happened? Why was Bolin telling me that everything’s good? And why hasn’t Tarrlok been arrested?”

“Also, where were you? And how the heck did you put up with that guy for so long?”

Korra exhales slowly, fighting the urge to fidget at the sensation of everybody’s eyes on her. “Let me start at the beginning,” she says evenly, sighing at the prospect of telling the whole story for the second time in two hours. A small part of her curls up with guilt, remembering the necessarily modified version of events she had given to Tenzin - who had believed it without question. Sure, he had questioned her sanity in striking up a friendship with Tarrlok and not wanting him to be prosecuted for his crimes, but he hadn’t doubted the truth of the words coming out of her mouth. He had trusted her, completely and totally.

She gives Mako, Bolin, and Asami the same modified story, but delivering it takes twice as long now than it had earlier. Every few sentences, the three of them interrupt her in order to express frustration, disgust, and hatred of Tarrlok. “Coward,” Asami says flatly, right at the beginning. “I understand why he wanted to run away, but to take you too, to try and protect himself? He _should_ be ashamed.”

“Yeah, and he made you pretend to be his wife?” Mako demands, outraged. “But he’s old enough to be your dad! What kind of sick bastard would do something like that?”

“Ugh,” Bolin shudders, nauseated. “I told you guys that Tarrlok had a thing for her! Do you remember how he was always sending Korra those fancy presents, trying to get her to join his task force thing? But he didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

Mako sits up straighter, his brows drawing together in a frown. “Then they have to arrest him, right? Aren’t there laws against that kind of thing?”

“No!” Korra exclaims, hoping that her own voice sounds more convincing to them than it does to her. “Tarrlok and I never… Of course not. No _way_. I would have killed him.”

They nod fervently, obviously satisfied, and Korra unclenches her fists, feeling the sweat coating the inside of her palms. As sick as it is, part of her wants to burst out in laughter. She had been right - if they knew the truth, they would lose all respect for her. Keeping the exact nature of her relationship with Tarrlok secret was the best decision she had ever made.

She starts telling the story again, but then they jump ahead and start asking her questions that she was going to get to a couple of minutes later, until Korra finally loses her patience and yells at them to be quiet. They fall silent after that, letting her talk, and she goes on, feeling more and more self-conscious with every word out of her mouth. For some reason, talking about this to them is even harder than it had been with Tenzin, maybe because it is a larger audience, and they…well, they had already, unknowingly touched on the truth, more than Tenzin had. But the initial explosion over the concept of she and Tarrlok coming to be on genuinely friendly terms is the same as it had been earlier. Of all of them, Mako seems to have the hardest time wrapping his mind around the idea.

“I understand pretending, but how could you actually be friends with him and not want to have him arrested?” he asks repeatedly, looking utterly bemused. “After all that he did? He kidnapped you - bloodbended you and held you captive–”

“You did what you had to in order to survive and get through the ordeal,” Asami says sympathetically. “Think of it like this, Mako. It would have been a nightmare for Korra if they had stayed enemies, like they were at the beginning, for all those months. She would have been even more stressed and unhappy than she already was. Befriending Tarrlok meant that both of them were able to treat each other better.” Asami looks over at her. “And…with all of my experience working underground with the Equalists, I understand where you’re coming from, Korra. When you spend that much time with a person, every single day, you get to know them, and you do bond with them. Even though I don’t agree with what they’re doing, I still don’t want the other girls on the chi-blocking squad I was assigned to, or the people I work with in the mecha-tank division, to go to jail.”

“Exactly!” Korra smiles, and the relief that washes over her is so strong that it makes it hard to breathe in again. Finally, somebody who can see where she’s coming from. “That is _exactly_ how I feel about Tarrlok. See, I’m not crazy.”

Mako shrugs moodily, clearly unconvinced. “I just don’t like it,” he says. “I mean…Tarrlok said that kidnapping Korra and holding her hostage was a mistake and he regretted it, and now he feels bad. Do you see Xeng patrolling that side of the beach, way over there? If I went over there and used my firebending to burn his face, and then I said later that it was a mistake and that I regretted it, would you expect me to not go to jail?”

“I get where you’re coming from, bro. I’m a cop too.” Bolin points at his badge. “The thing is, not only is Korra our friend and Tonraq and Senna’s daughter - hey, Korra, we met your parents, by the way - but she’s the _Avatar_. If Tarrlok had just held her captive forever, it could have thrown the world seriously off balance, just like what happened when Avatar Aang was lost for a whole hundred years. I mean, look at what’s happening to Republic City. That’s why Tarrlok bringing her back, right when we need her, was so important.”

“Thanks, Bolin.”

“Anytime.” He bumps his fist against hers.

Mako sighs. “I…get what you’re saying.” He runs his hand through his hair, and Asami wraps her arm around him gently. “It’s just that he’s a bloodbender, and I don’t think we can trust him, considering everything he’s done in the past.”

“You can,” Korra says emphatically, sliding off her rock and sitting in front of him, so she can look him in the eye. “I promise. I know him, and I trust him. I would trust him with my life.”

The brothers don’t react much to the statement, just nodding, but out of the corner of her eye, she sees Asami look at her sharply. Korra glances away casually, feeling her skin flush. She had forgotten how perceptive the other girl could be.

“I trust you, Korra,” Bolin says, thankfully providing a distraction. “You’re smart, and I know you have good reasons for feeling what you do. Plus, Avatar instincts and whatnot, right?”

“I trust you too. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I didn’t.” Mako’s shoulders slump. “It’s just that all of this has been really surprising.”

Korra gives him a wry smile. “Hey, I still can’t believe it sometimes, and I went through it.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, until Sitka sits upright abruptly. She pulls herself up from the sand and runs up the beach, and when they turn and look, Korra sees the distant figures of Tenzin, Lin, and Tarrlok, making their way toward them. Sitka sticks to Tarrlok’s side protectively, and she can’t help but smile a little.

She stands, and her friends do too, as the adults approach. It is strange, to see Tarrlok standing beside Lin and Tenzin, after so long - and all three of them look profoundly uncomfortable. Mako salutes Lin, breaking the silence. “Are Bolin and I working the overnight shift tonight, Chief?”

“You two can have tonight to rest, since you’ve done it for the past few nights. We just came out here to talk to you about something…”

Lin glances at Tenzin, who clears his throat, folding his arms across his chest. “As the mainland is insecure, and we haven’t yet arrived at a decision about when or if we should let Amon know that Korra and Tarrlok have returned, we decided that it would be best if Tarrlok remains on the island for the time being. He can stay in the men’s quarters.”

Korra sneaks a glance at Tarrlok. She can’t imagine that he would be thrilled with the sparse, ascetic accommodations on Air Temple Island, even though their old home in the Earth Kingdom hadn’t been too lavish. Instead of the irritation she had expected, he just looks weary and utterly exhausted, and she remembers that he hasn’t slept for more than a few hours in days, in anticipation of returning to Republic City. Normally, she wouldn’t think twice about crossing over to stand beside him and squeezing his hand lightly, resting her head against his shoulder, but everybody else’s presences freeze her to the ground and hold her still; prevent her from even looking at him for too long, and allowing any hint of caring to show on her face. 

Lin’s voice cuts into her thoughts. “That is only on one condition, though. As a safety precaution, Tarrlok will have his chi blocked every twelve hours for the duration of his stay, to ensure that he won’t be able to harm anybody.”

Predictably enough, Tarrlok doesn’t look thrilled about that. “Whoa,” Korra explodes, despite herself, ignoring the startled looks her friends give her. “Isn’t that kind of excessive? You can’t treat him like some kind of criminal!”

Lin scoffs humorlessly. “He is some kind of criminal, remember?”

It takes every ounce of the self-control she has to hold on to her temper. She feels her face get hot and the anger rise in her chest, and it’s only the knowledge that this in itself is a huge compromise that forces her to keep silent. Korra jerks her head to the side irritably. “Fine,” she says tersely, and the thought crosses her mind that she doesn’t like this; over the past eight months, she had forgotten what it was like, to have adults calling the shots all the time. If there’s one thing she misses already, it’s being the one in control. And if it’s hard for her, it must be _really_ humiliating for Tarrlok…

“Asami?” Lin asks.

Asami steps forward, her face an expressionless mask. She strikes as fast as a lion-snake, her fingers jabbing into Tarrlok’s three pulse points hard, before she retreats, and Korra can see the conflict on her face between the desire to apologize and the desire to keep silent. And just like that - with only the faintest grimace that passes over his face as an acknowledgement of the painful strikes - Tarrlok is rendered a helpless, harmless non-bender. Because he certainly is harmless. She knows he can’t fight without his bending. When they had been living in the Earth Kingdom and she had challenged him to a spar, on a whim, she had been surprised to discover that he couldn’t even throw a single punch. 

The sight of him like this makes Korra flash back to all the times Tarrlok had blocked her chi, during her captivity, to keep her from fighting back. Suppressing her bending had been the only way he could keep her reasonably non-violent. She had bitten her lip and the inside of her cheek and her tongue, but still, she couldn’t always keep herself from whimpering at the strikes. During the worst time, the chi points on her arm, back, and neck had been bruised for weeks, and were constantly sore and tender. Most of the time, Tarrlok had looked at her with an expression of disgust, when he did it. Sometimes the disgust had been directed at her. _I keep telling you to stop fighting me - how stupid are you?_ or _You are the most troublesome, difficult girl that has ever lived, I’ve surely done everybody who knew you a favor, by removing you from their lives–_

But sometimes it had been directed at himself. He would strike her chi points quickly and turn away and stride out of the room, as if burned. Often, it was a mixture of both.

As Tarrlok straightens, their gazes meet, and she can tell that he is remembering the exact same things as she is. He looks away quickly, and Korra does as well. There’s a strange, bitter taste in her mouth. 

“Mako, Bolin,” Lin says briskly. “Please show Tarrlok to the men’s quarters and familiarize him with the island on your way.”

“Do we have to do it right now?” Bolin protests, wilting. “We were talking to Korra - we haven’t seen her in months–”

“It’s okay,” Mako says reluctantly. “It’s already late, and we have to be up at dawn tomorrow. Besides,” - he smiles a little, and it lights up his tired face - “Korra will be here tomorrow, right?”

“I will,” she agrees, and how is it that now, she can smile so hard that her face hurts, when just a few moments ago, she had felt so somber? Mako and Bolin grin back at her, before stepping forward and pulling her and Asami into a group hug. 

Her smile fades when the two of them step back, moving to stand beside Tarrlok. “See you tomorrow!” Bolin says cheerfully.

Korra echoes his words, feeling somewhat off balance, and all too conscious of the fact that this is the first night that she and Tarrlok can’t really bid each other goodnight as they’re accustomed to, with hugs and kisses. Not with everybody watching them. And in a few minutes, he’s going to go off to his own room and she to hers - and she hasn’t slept by herself in months. She can hardly remember falling asleep alone, not in his arms, or at least having him nearby. Earlier, she had just assumed that she would be the one to show him to the men’s sleeping quarters, on the other side of the island, because they haven’t had any time alone since arriving; not even a few moments to exchange a couple of words.

Obviously, that isn’t going to happen, and Korra clears her throat, mustering her courage. “Good night, Tarrlok,” she says awkwardly, trying to make it sound as casual as she can - casual and friendly. Her face is burning, again. Everybody is staring, and they look so confused and weirded out–

He’s standing close enough that he could place his hand on her shoulder, at least, but he chooses not to; perhaps remembering the Order of the White Lotus and the Republic City police’s reactions to the casual gesture. He just nods at her, following her lead. “Sleep well, Korra,” he replies - sounding like the cool, composed politician he had once been, and not at all like the man who had fallen from grace so spectacularly. 

Korra watches the three of them leave, and to her surprise, Sitka follows Tarrlok. She stretches her hand out to the dog and opens her mouth to call her back, but after a few moments, she closes it, dropping her hand. Tarrlok is lonelier than she is, here. He needs her more.

“I think I’m going to turn in too,” Asami says, looking at her. “I’m supposed to be at my dad’s weapons factory first thing in the morning. And I’m staying in your old room now that a lot of the police officers have moved in, so do you want to walk over together?”

Korra’s stomach chooses that moment to growl, and she rests a hand on it ruefully, realizing that it’s close to midnight, and she still hasn’t eaten dinner. “I’m going to come by a little later. Tenzin….” Her stomach curls up in a way that can’t be attributed to hunger. “Can I call my parents and Katara in the South Pole now?” she blurts. “I know that you want to keep me being here a secret from Amon, but I really, really need to talk to them and tell them that I’m okay. They’ve been waiting–”

Her voice cracks unexpectedly, and she immediately falls silent, mortified. Her heart is racing even more than it had been in the moments before arriving at Air Temple Island. Asami rests her hand on her arm lightly, sympathetically, for a moment.

Tenzin and Lin exchange glances, and he speaks first. “Tonraq and Senna must be informed at once. No matter what, we can’t possibly keep Korra’s safe return a secret from them.”

Lin nods, her brow creasing in thought. “We have confirmed that the phone lines on the island are secure, so it shouldn’t lead to a security breach. Go ahead.”

Korra feels her entire body sag in relief. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” Lin’s expression softens slightly. “It’s good to have you back, kid.”

It doesn’t make sense, considering that she had been furious at her when they had first showed up on the island, for trying to have Tarrlok arrested and not believing her and implying that she had been manipulated by him in some way, but Korra suddenly feels a rush of fondness for Lin. As Chief of Police, she had done her best to keep Republic City from falling to Amon completely, and she had succeeded. And she can’t help but remember the way both of them had fought alongside one another at the pro-bending arena on the night of the finals, against the Equalists. She may be frustrating, but the truth is that she always has the city’s best interests at heart.

So Korra does what comes naturally to her, and bounds forward, sweeping Lin up in a bone-crushing hug and lifting her feet clear off the sand. “Aww, I missed you too,” she says mischievously, over the sound of Tenzin and Asami’s laughter. If only she could see the look on Lin’s face…

Lin bops her on the head. “Put me down!”

Korra does so, laughing, as Lin straightens her uniform and scowls at her, rather red in the face. She waves at her and Asami, before falling into step with Tenzin, as they make their way back up the beach, toward the house. Finally, she can ask the one question that’s been weighing heavily on her mind for the past eight months. “Do you know what happened to Naga?” she asks anxiously. “Where is she? Is she okay? I left her outside of City Hall, and I didn’t see her, after Tarrlok dragged me out to the back and threw me in the back of his car after we fought. Did she try and follow me up to the mountains? Or did she stay there until the morning?" 

Her mind races, trying to figure it out. If Naga had gone up to the mountains to look for her, following her scent, and ended up staying there, as Tarrlok had suggested on the day he had taken her away…maybe she, Asami, Mako, and Bolin can drive up to the mountains in Asami’s Satomobile to look for her and call her back home. 

Tenzin rests a hand on her shoulder. "She did follow you up to the mountains. We found her circling Tarrlok’s cabin and howling, as soon as we got there.”

Korra bows her head, feeling tears prick at her eyes and her nose begin to sting at the thought of Naga searching for her, finding the last hint of her scent, waiting for her to come back–

“It was…difficult…to get Naga to cooperate, but after some time and tranquilizers, the Order of the White Lotus managed to get her away from the cabin and back to the city. They safely escorted her back to the South Pole.” Tenzin smiles at her. “She’s been living with your parents. They remind her of you, so she stays close. The last I heard, she had started to allow your father to ride her out on his hunts.”

Korra wipes her eyes on the fur trim of her sleeve as discreetly as she can. She had hoped Naga had gone back to the South Pole, but as much as she wanted her polar bear-dog to be happy, part of her had also been afraid that Naga would have gone off into the wild again; found a mate and had a litter of cubs and started a new life, without her. Since she had stayed, she can see her again; throw her arms around her neck and bury her face in her fur. They can go swimming in the bay, and running through the streets, and she can give Naga eight months’ worth of tummy scratches. Over the past months, in Republic City and the Earth Kingdom, she had forged friendships with human peers for the first time in her life, but that doesn’t change how deeply she had missed her best friend.

As they get closer to the house, she notices the patrols of Order of the White Lotus sentries and Republic City police officers resuming their duties around the island. Captain Arata of the White Lotus, breaks off from his group and comes hurrying toward them. He’s been with the Order for as long as she can remember; he had been one of the first new people she had met, in the compound. And he had been the first person she had ever seen who could bend lightning. It had filled her four-year-old heart with total and complete awe, and he had patiently answered all of her questions about it. 

Her respect for his bending had remained, but over the years, she had stopped thinking of him as cool. As a matter of fact, she remembers telling Master Katara several choice words about him, as well as the other senior officers… _They’re so overprotective!_ she had raged. _They’re stifling! They don’t let me do anything! How am I supposed to have any kind of normal life?_

He stops in front of her, and bows deeply. “Avatar Korra.” When he straightens, she’s struck by how much older he looks, compared to how she remembers him. His hair has grown grayer; his face more lined. _Of course,_ she realizes, with a pang of sorrow. The Order of the White Lotus’s sole mission is to protect the Avatar, and keep him or her safe from all harm. It had certainly been one that Captain Arata had always taken very, very seriously. 

“I - we - are all so thankful for your safe return,” Arata says, and he bows his head again, emotion written all over his face. “And I want to apologize, for not bringing you home sooner. Please forgive me, and all of us." 

Korra reaches out and takes his hand, touched. "It’s okay,” she replies sincerely. Her old resentment - storming through the forest, lost in her dark thoughts, _this is the reason you exist, you’re supposed to be the most elite there is, but you’re just failures, failures, failures_ \- has been long since forgotten. “I really mean it. And thanks for standing up for me, earlier, on the beach.”

“Your well-being and protection is our utmost priority, Avatar Korra.”

She watches him go, rejoining his squad. “See?” Tenzin says quietly. “We might not agree with all of their methods, but they’re not so bad after all.”

Okay, so he had heard a few of her rants too, and Korra rolls her eyes, blushing. “Yeah, yeah." 

It’s a struggle not to run the rest of the way up to the island. The second they get back to the kitchen, Korra starts to pace, overwhelmed with nervous energy and anticipation, as Tenzin pulls out some leftover vegetarian eggplant noodles from the refrigerator for her. When he moves toward the stove, she shakes her head impatiently and takes the bowl from him, easily heating it up with her firebending. She scarfs it down standing up, stuffing the noodles into her mouth until her cheeks bulge, while chewing rapidly. She hadn’t realized exactly how ravenous she was until now. Her nerves at the prospect of talking to her parents soon make her feel sick about halfway through the bowl, though, and she sets it down on the counter, swallowing the last mouthful, even as her stomach threatens to rebel.

Tenzin opens a drawer, pulling out an aged leather book, and he rifles through the pages as he makes his way over to the table where the telephone is. Korra follows him, sitting down and fidgeting restlessly. Her parents are probably the only villagers in the South Pole to have a phone in their home; it had been installed when she moved into the Order of the White Lotus compound shortly after her fourth birthday, so they could talk to her every night. She still remembers the big armchair she would perch on, in the compound’s sitting room. It had been near a window, and she would look out into the night, and pretend that she could see her home from there. She had been fascinated by the concept of the telephone, and of course she had enjoyed being able to talk to her mom and dad, even though she couldn’t see them. It had taken her a few years to realize the telephone’s reception and wires actually had nothing to do with the way her mom’s voice got all unsteady and faint at the end of their phone calls.

Tenzin glances at the clock, lifting up the phone and preparing to dial. "I feel bad about disturbing them so late at night,” he says. “I’m afraid they might assume the worst - but of course they’ll want to hear this news.”

Korra nods jerkily. “You’re going to talk first, right?”

“I will.”

She nods again, feeling her chest and stomach clench up even tighter. Tenzin rests his hand on hers, obviously sensing her anxiety and anticipation, and Korra squeezes his hand hard, taking a deep breath. She can’t remember the last time her emotions have been this out of control. She’s already on the verge of tears; throat tight, eyes and nose stinging.

Tenzin puts the phone to his ear, and Korra hears it ring. _Ring, ring, ring, ring_ –

And then the ringing stops. Faintly, she hears her father’s voice on the other end, hoarse with sleep and confusion. “Hello?”

At that one word, the tears that had been welling up in her eyes spill over, and as hard as she tries, she can’t keep them back. Tenzin grips her hand reassuringly. “Tonraq,” he says. “It’s me, Tenzin.” Before her dad can say anything, he continues. “We found her. We found Korra. She’s sitting right next to me, at Air Temple Island in Republic City.”

_Stop_ , she tells herself, but she’s crying so hard now that she can’t hear her dad’s reply, just Tenzin’s voice. “Yes,” he says, over and over again. “Korra is alive and well, and she appears completely unharmed. Tarrlok brought her back to us. Yes, she’s right here, she wants to talk to you–”

Korra reaches for the phone, and Tenzin gives it to her. For the first time, she notices that his eyes are shining with tears. She takes the phone with shaking hands, pressing it to her ear uncertainly. “Dad?” she asks, her voice cracking. “Mom? Are you there?”

It takes her a few moments to recognize the sound, but when she does, she just hears her dad crying - actually crying - like he hasn’t since his father died, ten years ago. There’s a rustling noise then, the phone changing hands, and after that, she hears her mom’s voice, choked up and disbelieving. “Korra, sweetie, is that really you?”

Korra nods wordlessly, tears and snot running down her face. She wipes at her face haphazardly, before remembering that they can’t see her. “Yeah,” she manages. “I’m back. And I’m - I’m okay.”

There is no sound as heartbreaking as her mother crying. “We’re so happy,” she says, the reception fading, for a moment. “We…we didn’t think…we were so afraid–”

Her dad takes the phone again, and she hears him trying to console her mom. _It’s all right, Senna. Everything is going to be all right._ “We love you so much, Korra,” he tells her. “We’ve missed you so much.”

Korra presses her fist to her mouth in an attempt to calm herself down. “I love you too,” she replies tearfully, and suddenly, she can’t bear the thought of the distance that separates them. She needs them right now, like she hasn’t since she was a little child. She needs to pick them up in a hug, to feel the warmth of their embraces and see them in person; to sit beside her mom and rest her head on her shoulder as she listens to her dad’s stories. “Please come. _Please._ You and Mom. I need to see you.”

“We will,” her dad promises, at once. “We’ll talk to Tenzin right now and arrange everything.” He pauses, brief and anguished. “Don’t cry, princess. It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be all right now.”

Korra bites her lip, trying to regain her composure. “Thanks, Dad.” She hesitates, rubbing her eyes again. “Is there any way that I can talk to Naga too? Can you tell her I’m back? Do you think she’ll understand?”

“Of course. Hold on–”

Senna picks up the phone. “Your dad’s gone to wake Naga up. He built her a nice solid shelter at the front of the house, after she came to live with us. We think that if she stands right outside the front window, we can stretch the telephone wire enough that your dad can hold the phone to her ear–”

There’s shuffling, then, and the sound of movement. Korra sniffles, blowing her nose with the handkerchief Asami had given her, which is totally soaked by now. She gives Tenzin a shaky smile, which he returns. Finally, Korra hears a distant, quizzical sort of snuffling - one of the most familiar sounds in the world - and she chokes up again. “Naga?” she asks. “Naga? Can you hear me? It’s me, Korra - I’m home–”

She hesitates again, doubting herself for a moment. Maybe Naga won’t be able to recognize her voice from over the phone; it isn’t the natural form of polar bear-dog communication. But in the next instant, she holds the phone an arm’s length away from her ear, almost dropping it in shock. Naga barks in recognition, her sonorously loud, happy polar bear-dog bark, over and over again, her joy obvious. It’s the same sound she would make after they would go on dives in the ocean together, and Korra laughs, holding the phone close to her again, and this time, her eyes fill up with tears of happiness. She can hear her parents laughing in the background, too. “She’s going to wake up the whole village,” her dad says.

“She’s wagging her tail so hard that I think it might bring down the house,” Senna reports.

“Bring her too,” Korra says, and the need to pet Naga and hold her is so strong it’s a physical ache. “Please.”

“We will,” her mom says. “Can we talk to Tenzin? I know the situation in Republic City is very delicate, but we want to see you as soon as possible.”

Korra blinks her tears back, nodding, and she feels a wave of hatred and resentment for Amon so strong that it almost makes her sick. If it weren’t for him, she could go back home to the South Pole and just stay with her parents for a few months, in order to make up for the long, traumatic separation. “I do, too.”

“We love you, Korra. And we’re so happy you’re home.”

“I love you too.” She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that they should be here, in just a few days or so. “Give Dad a hug from me, okay?”

Korra hands the phone back to Tenzin, and after he takes it, she digs back into her noodles again, overwhelmed by her own relief. Hearing their voices again had alleviated a pressure inside her so great that she hadn’t even fully comprehended it until now. Tenzin hangs up after several minutes, and she looks up at him curiously, as she takes her last bite of the noodles.

“Your parents are going to be catching the next merchant ship to Republic City, the coming afternoon,” he says, in response to her unasked question. “It will dock at Air Temple Island instead of the main harbor, and hopefully, that should be enough to avoid detection by Amon.”

The noodles seem to turn to ash in her mouth, and it’s a struggle to chew and swallow it. “He wouldn’t target them, would he?” The idea is too horrifying to contemplate, and Korra shakes her head, trying to get rid of it - the horrible, reflexive fear; the mental image of her parents tied up and forced to their knees on a stage, just like Amon had done to Bolin and Lightning Bolt Zolt. 

“Your parents did come to Republic City, in the week following your disappearance. Lin and I were worried about their visit attracting Amon’s attention, but he chose not to act, for whatever reason.”

“Good.” Korra’s fingers curl into fists, under the table. Regardless of Aang’s lesson about nonviolence…if Amon laid one hand on her mom and dad, she would force herself into the Avatar state and end him.

Tenzin rests a hand on her shoulder. “Your parents said that they were going to call my mother now, to tell her the good news. She’ll be thrilled to hear that you’re all right.”

Korra smiles, feeling her shoulders slump in another grateful sigh. Tenzin looks even more tired than she does, but he smiles too, patting her on the hand, and she leans over to give him a hug. “Thanks,” she says. “For everything.”

Tenzin sighs, and it can’t be more obvious that he’s still having misgivings over everything that had happened with Tarrlok earlier in the night. “I’m just glad that you’re back with us,” he replies quietly. “But you should get some rest now. You look exhausted. Do you remember where your room is?”

Korra rolls her eyes, pushing her chair back from the table and standing up, carrying her bowl to the sink. “I’ve been gone for eight months, not eight years.”

Tenzin coughs to stifle a laugh. “Good night, Korra.”

“Night, Tenzin.”

She makes her way through the house, toward the women’s quarters, padding through the dark, silent hallways. It feels weird, knowing that Pema and the kids aren’t here. The halls look strangely bare without Meelo and Ikki’s toys lying around, and all the window seats are empty, free of Jinora’s hundreds of dog-eared paperbacks. Hopefully this whole nightmare with Amon and the Equalists will be resolved soon, so they can come back home.

Korra hears a clock strike the next hour, and she glances out the window, at the empty stretch of beach. All the patrols must be on the other side of the island right now, and she stops by the window, toying with the idea of slipping outside and sneaking over to the men’s quarters to visit Tarrlok. But then she remembers what Lin had said about his room being near Mako and Bolin’s, and winces at the thought of being discovered by them. She continues down the hall, rubbing the back of her neck tiredly.

She eats her words, shortly afterward; it takes her a few minutes of staring in confusion at various doors before she remembers which one had been her own. Perturbed by the lapse in memory, Korra opens the door as quietly as she can, slipping into the room that hasn’t been hers for the better part of a year, and the memories hit her like a slap to the face.

The room looks different, sure - there’s another futon in here, against the opposite side of the wall, where Asami is stretched out, sleeping peacefully. Her things rest on the dresser space, and instead of smelling of polar bear-dog, the room now smells faintly of perfume. It’s still the room that she remembers, though, and just standing here takes her back almost a year, to her first confrontation with Amon. She had so many nightmares, in here…of Equalists bursting in through that same window, attacking her while she slept. Rendering her utterly defenseless, unable to do more than stare in mute horror as Amon climbed in through the window and advanced on her. 

Korra shudders, looking away from the window and toward her pristinely made bed. She had never made her bed, considering it to be a waste of time and thoroughly unnecessary. On the night that Mako, Bolin, and Asami had been arrested, along with all the other non-benders, she had tossed and turned and fumed for half an hour. When she had finally leaped out of bed, she had thrown the covers aside carelessly, half of the blankets sliding down to the floor. Who had made the bed, afterward, when Tenzin and the others had discovered she had gone missing? She imagines Pema doing it, pulling the blanket back onto the bed and straightening it, smoothing out the creases, her face pale with worry and one hand resting over her pregnant stomach, and she blinks hard, trying to keep from tearing up again.

One of the Order of the White Lotus members had brought her bags in from the beach, and she fumbles with the zipper and rummages around, pulling things out. Emi and Roumei’s gifts come out first, the boxes of patron spirits from their home nations, and Korra bites her lip, setting them reverently on her bedside table. She can see Roumei’s note with her and Emi’s addresses, sticking out from underneath the cover of her box, and she gently pushes it inside and out of sight, trying to ignore the stab of guilt she feels. _Write to us when you get settled down in the North Pole! We hope to see you soon._

Underneath the gifts, she finds her sleeping clothes, the black leggings and the fur-lined anorak that Tarrlok had given her - well, thrown at her - when they had been on the ship to the Earth Kingdom. She carries them to the attached bathroom and undresses and washes her face, and she can’t help but notice Asami’s things, meticulously arranged on the counter, taking up the space that had once been empty of everything besides her toothbrush and a whalebone comb. There are cosmetics, perfume, lotion, and hairclips, but it’s the ivory comb that really catches her eye. It’s an old-fashioned design that looks much older than the rest of Asami’s stuff, and Korra wonders whether it had belonged to her mom.

She looks away in an attempt to distract herself, and opens the drawer underneath the sink, searching for a place to put her hair ribbons. To her surprise, she sees that all of her old Water Tribe hair ties are still there, the ones that she would use to put her hair into her old three ponytails. Korra smiles, reaching out and touching them, feeling the familiar texture underneath her fingertips. It’s going to be nice, to slide them into her hair again, and style it like she’s used to - as a Southern Water Tribe warrior. She can be her old self again, _Korra_ , now. There will be no more pretending, no more hiding, no more being called “Senna.” It’s going to be nice.

Korra goes back outside, padding across the floor, and sliding into her bed somewhat awkwardly. It feels different from what she’s used to. The sheets are stiff and the blankets are modern, Republic City-style, rather than the soft, traditional Water Tribe furs that she and Tarrlok had. She tosses and turns a little, trying to get comfortable, and no matter how hard she tries to clear her mind and get some rest, her conversations with her parents and friends keep replaying in her mind’s eye, over and over again. This has felt like the longest day of her life, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to be coming to a close anytime soon. 

Korra flops onto her back, closing her eyes. It takes several minutes of sorting through her emotions for her to figure out what’s wrong, and she closes her eyes, saddened. It feels strange to have to sleep on her own like this again. As much as she had never imagined this thought crossing her mind, ever, she misses Tarrlok’s ( _solid, warm, comforting_ ) presence beside her. She misses the smell of his hair, and the steady, repetitive rhythm of his heartbeat, and the way he would hold her, and the sound of his voice. For whatever reason, she usually felt chatty late at night, while he was more than ready to fall asleep. Sometimes he would play along, and sometimes he would grouch and complain ( _just please go to sleep, Korra_ ), but she had always enjoyed their conversations.

_“Ugh! I told you guys that Tarrlok had a thing for her! Do you remember how he was always sending Korra those fancy presents, trying to get her to join his task force thing? But he didn’t do anything to you, did he?”_

_“Then they have to arrest him, right? Aren’t there laws against that kind of thing?”_

_“No! Tarrlok and I never– Of course not. No way. I would have killed him.”_

Korra grimaces at the memory and the assumed disgust in her voice, and involuntarily, she imagines what Tarrlok’s face would have looked like, if he had heard that–

She wraps her arms around herself, unable to come to terms with the feeling melancholy pressing down on her, and finally, after a long time spent staring blankly at the wall, she drifts off to sleep.

-

Korra wakes up to the sun on her face. She stretches luxuriously, turning her head against the pillow, and then sits bolt upright suddenly, her eyes widening in panic. The sun is already up, and high in the sky. She’s going to be late for work, and Sitka needs to go out for her walk–

She blinks at her surroundings in confusion, and then rubs at her eyes until the disorientation passes. _There’s no work_ , she reminds herself, for the third day in a row. She’s back in Republic City. For the first time in months, she’s waking up in Republic City. There had been a time, not too long ago, when she had doubted she would ever do this again.

The bedroom is empty, Asami’s futon neatly made, and Korra winces as her gaze lands on the clock mounted on the wall. It’s almost noon - no wonder her stomach has been growling since the second she opened her eyes. 

She drags herself out of bed and stretches again, humming in contentment, before slowly making her way over to the bathroom. She showers and freshens up, thinking longingly of the delicious fruit porridge that Pema used to make for breakfast, and wraps a towel around herself as she walks back into the bedroom, bending the water out of her hair and flinging it backwards, into the sink. Korra hesitates, standing in front of the dresser drawers that used to contain her clothes. Asami’s clothes might be in there now, and she doesn’t want to go poking around in the other girl’s skirts and blouses and underwear and stuff. That would be weird. It’s already a little strange, sharing this space with her, considering they hadn’t known each other that well before she had left Republic City.

Korra opens the first drawer tentatively, and she smiles in relief and surprise when she sees the shades of blue inside. Her old, loose Water Tribe pants, and light blue sleeveless shirts, along with the one extra tiger-seal fur wrap she had brought from the South Pole. She dresses hurriedly, tossing the towel aside and pulling on her pants and shirt, before tying the wrap around her hips. She grins, jumping up and down and punching the air in pure exhilaration. She had forgotten how great her old clothes felt, and so _familiar_. Not to mention the unparalleled sense of freedom of movement, after so many months of wearing dresses.

She ducks into a fighting stance and punches the air twice, in short, quick jabs, before whirling around and delivering a spinning kick to the face of an imaginary enemy. That quickly turns into several minutes of solo sparring and drills, before Korra forces herself to stop, taking a deep breath and telling herself that there will be enough time to train after breakfast. Maybe Mako or Bolin will be free then, too. She runs her fingers through her hair, tying it up in her three ponytails, and beams at her reflection. That’s better. She actually, truly recognizes herself again. It’s funny, how a simple change in clothes had made her feel so much more like herself. Like the old Korra, brave and strong and tough.

She hears a knock at the door, then, and turns around, startled. “Come in,” she calls belatedly, straightening her shirt.

The door slides open, and Asami steps inside. She’s wearing a stained work uniform, her hair tied up in a ponytail, and she blinks uncertainly. “Oh, are you getting dressed? I can come back later–”

“It’s okay,” Korra says hurriedly. “I just finished.”

“Oh, okay.” Asami closes the door behind her, hanging her shoulder bag up on one of the hooks mounted on the wall. 

Korra coughs, unnecessarily checking one of her hair ties. Now that she thinks about it, this is the first time she’s been alone with Asami since that one time they had gone racing, such a long time ago, and it’s a bit…awkward. “So,” she says abruptly. “How was work?”

Asami shrugs one shoulder, glancing in the mirror and rubbing a spot of dark engine oil off her face. “It was awful,” she says flatly. 

Korra pauses, unsure of how to respond to that. “…Oh.”

“Most days, I can cope with it, but sometimes it really gets me down.” Asami paces, her eyes shining with passion unlike anything that Korra has seen from her before. “There’s such _amazing_ technology there, you know. The Equalists have recruited some of the most brilliant engineers I’ve ever seen, besides my dad. It would have been an honor to work with them, under any other circumstances.” She stops, visibly deflating. “It just kills me that they’re using their talent and energy to make such violent weapons, designed to bring such a huge amount of pain and suffering.”

Korra nods, tongue-tied and at a loss, again. To her great relief, Asami shakes her head as if trying to dispel the thoughts, and then gives her a wan smile. “Anyway. I really like that new tattoo, Korra! It looks amazing.”

At least _that’s_ something that she feels comfortable talking about. “Thanks! It’s a traditional Water Tribe coming-of-age thing, both of my parents have them–”

Korra catches herself just in time to avoid accidentally spilling the information that she and Tarrlok had gone to get them together. She doesn’t need to make another slip in front of Asami, not after last night.

“Oh, I didn’t know that. It seems like a really interesting custom, though.” She rubs her arm absentmindedly. “I think that when all of this is over, I want to get one too.”

Korra raises an eyebrow, surprised. From what she’d heard from Emi and Roumei, in Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation culture, tattoos aren’t too common for women, and Asami is of mixed Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation descent, after all. But then again, she can’t think of many other girls who share Asami’s hobbies, either. “What of?”

“Just a couple of small music notes. Right here.” Asami touches the inside of her wrist. “My mom was a pianist. I remember that she loved composing her own pieces.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“Thanks.”

Both of them lapse into silence, Asami looking at the ground and Korra staring at the wall, and before she can second-guess herself or put it off any longer, she blurts it out. “I’m sorry that I never really took the time to get to know you before I left Republic City.”

Her voice ends up coming out too loud. Asami looks up, startled, and Korra winces, feeling her face go red, but she plows on, determined to make her point. “I know that it’s not really an excuse, but things were crazy back then, and…” She can’t help but wince, remembering the mortifying afternoon that Ikki had revealed her crush on Mako in front of Asami. “I - I…you probably remember Ikki saying that I had a crush on Mako, back then. And that made things weird between you and me too, even though you never did anything to make it like that. You were nice, but I kept thinking of you as an opponent on the pro-bending field.”

…And now that she’s talking about it, there’s no holding any of it back, especially since it’s been weighing on her for a long time now. “And it got worse after Mako and I kissed,” Korra admits softly, wishing the floor would open up underneath her and swallow her up. “Or…I kissed Mako, after I knew you two were dating.” She _cannot_ look up and look Asami in the eye. “During the pro-bending championships, and that’s part of the reason I always felt so uncomfortable around you, so yeah. I don’t feel that way about Mako anymore,” she hastens to add, and she dares a brief glance at the other girl. “I really don’t. I swear. And all the time that I’ve been gone, I’ve thought about it, and I feel really guilty about what I did, and I know it was wrong. I am so sorry for that, and for everything.”

Asami blinks, obviously not having expected any of that, and Korra keeps talking out of sheer nerves, the words spilling out of her way too fast. “And…when I was in the Earth Kingdom, I made friends with these two girls. Or, they made friends with me - but either way, that was the first time I’ve ever had girl friends. I’ve never really identified with girls much, for some reason, but being friends with them and realizing what it feels like to have girl friends made me get what I had been missing out on by not getting to know you.” She pauses, making herself take a deep breath. “After everything, I totally understand if you’re mad at me,” she says slowly. “But I would really like it if we could start over.”

Korra stops, her heart pounding as if she had just run a marathon. She hadn’t even given Tenzin a speech like this, last night. Oh, _spirits._ She hates talking about awkward things like this. Everything had come out wrong, and in this awful, disjointed torrent of word vomit, too–

She chances another cautious look at Asami, feeling intensely uncomfortable. The other girl opens her mouth uncertainly and then closes it, sitting down on her futon, as if shocked. 

“I always liked you, Korra,” she says finally, slowly, after several moments, and Korra closes her eyes, preparing for the knockout punch - _I always liked you until now, you’re actually an awful person and I should have never trusted you–_

“…And I still do,” Asami continues firmly, and Korra opens her eyes, taken aback. “And that’s why I was so hurt when I found out about you and Mako. Especially because Bolin was the one to tell me - Mako only admitted it later.”

Her face feels so hot that it’s beyond uncomfortable, now, and she’s actually sweating. “I’m sorry,” she says again.

“It’s okay.” Asami’s expression softens a little. “Mako felt really bad about it…and I can tell that you do too.”

Korra sits down on the edge of the bed, pressing her hands between her knees nervously. “I do. You know, Mako was my first real crush. Ever. And like I said, I never really had girl friends before…” She shrugs, frustrated at herself, and her own immaturity. She had been so stupid and thoughtless. “On some level, back then, I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I didn’t even think about it. I didn’t really _get_ how wrong it was until a while ago. I thought of how horrible my friend Emi would have felt if I kissed her husband or something, and it just…it really hurt. I couldn’t imagine doing something like that to her, and then I realized it was kind of like what I did to you.” Korra sighs, resting her head in her hands for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she says after a while, her voice muffled. “You must think that I’m really dumb." 

Asami shakes her head, taking it in. "I don’t think I’ve ever told you about this, but I went to an all-girls primary and secondary school,” she replies, at length. “I know you grew up by yourself in the Order of the White Lotus compound, so I understand that things were different for you, and that made things like this hard to deal with.”

Korra rubs the back of her neck ruefully. “It did. I just…I was confused, I didn’t know what I was doing or how to deal with anything, and honestly, a lot of the time, I was only thinking about myself.” She scuffs the toe of her boot against the floor. “But I - I’m not like that now, I think. Or I’m better, at least.”

Asami nods. “Yeah, I noticed that you do seem a little different.”

“I am,” Korra replies forcefully. “And I want to be friends. I really do. You, me, Mako, Bolin - we can be a real, solid team, like we always should have been. We can be there for each other and have each other’s backs, without any of that other stuff getting in the way. Just like the old Team Avatar, you know?”

Asami gives her a small smile. “Well, the old Team Avatar was pretty amazing.”

“Yeah!” Korra hesitates, unsure of whether to continue. “And…I’m happy that you and Mako’s relationship is working out. I really am. You guys make each other happy, and that’s what really matters. Both of you deserve that.”

Asami’s smile is bigger and less uncertain, this time. “Thanks.”

“So…” Korra trails off, hardly daring to hope. “Are we good?”

Asami laughs, punching her on the shoulder lightly. “We’re good.”

Korra grins, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. “Awesome!”

Asami gets up and holds a hand out to her, before pulling her into a standing position. “So, I didn’t get a chance to ask you last night - but besides getting inked, what else were you up to while you were in the Earth Kingdom? Since you said that Tarrlok let you have more freedom than he did while the two of you were in Republic City–”

“Well, I worked as a hunter, with a bow and arrow and everything - and _also,_ I learned how to drive!”

Korra puffs herself up with pride, and Asami’s eyebrows shoot up. “No way. I was checking out that roadster Tarrlok gave you last year, and Tenzin told me you had never even taken it out. I couldn’t believe him. That car is top-of-the-line, the engines are incredibly powerful–”

“Yeah, sure.” Korra rolls her eyes in amusement, remembering how annoyed she had been to receive the extravagant gift. 

“So, what did you drive? We do import Satomobiles to the Earth Kingdom, but we don’t have a factory that far out…”

Korra clears her throat, suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, it wasn’t a Satomobile. It was, uh, a Cabbage Car.”

Asami turns to her, looking utterly horrified. “What?”

Korra coughs in an attempt to conceal her laughter. “Yep. It was one of the original models too…it was probably like eighty years old. It wouldn’t go faster than forty miles an hour - and that only when I was pressing down on the accelerator really, really hard - but it was still lots of fun.”

“Forty miles an hour?” Asami echoes faintly. “And that was lots of fun?”

“Yep,” Korra repeats blithely.

“Crush Amon,” Asami replies, her tone just as matter-of-fact. “As soon as possible. We need to go out in a real car.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Korra’s stomach gives another pained growl, and she rests a hand on it, making a face. “After lunch?”

“Of course.”

They walk out together, sliding the door shut behind them.

-

_to be continued_

-


	13. Part Thirteen

“He is _not_ coming into this meeting.”

“Why?” Korra retorts, putting her hands on her hips and leaning forward. “Look, you may not like Tarrlok, but he’s definitely not a traitor. He’s just as concerned with the anti-bending revolution as we are.”

Lin snorts, crossing her arms over her chest. “Right. He was _very_ concerned, when he took you - Republic City’s best chance against Amon - and ran away for the better part of a year, leaving the city to burn.”

Korra feels herself turn red, and she opens her mouth angrily - but then Tenzin steps forward and places a calming hand on her shoulder, shaking his head at Lin. “Korra’s right. We have no reason to believe that Tarrlok’s presence at the meeting will compromise security in any way. Besides, there’s no way he could contact Amon or any other Equalist operatives, even if he wanted to.”

Lin shrugs irritably. “Very well, then. We’re starting in five minutes. Don’t be late.”

Lin and Tenzin head toward the sitting room, and Korra fights the urge to stick her tongue out at Lin’s back. She loses. She stretches, feeling the tingle of her sore muscles after her earlier spar with Asami, and then makes her way over to the hallway. That was where Lin had caught her, Tarrlok, and Bolin heading to the meeting, and then flatly told Tarrlok that he wasn’t welcome there. 

She’s momentarily disappointed to find that Tarrlok isn’t alone. Bolin’s still with him, proudly showing off the tiny coat of armor that he had created for Pabu. Tarrlok holds his hand out, and Pabu scurries up his arm and to his shoulder, where he sniffs the fur lining of his anorak curiously. Korra can’t help but laugh at the sight - it gives her the tiniest bit of hope that Tarrlok can fit in with her life here. Her real life, not the artificial environment he had imposed on her in the Earth Kingdom. 

Bolin and Tarrlok turn to look at her then, and she goes to join them. “You’re good,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know why Beifong thought that you of all people might want to sell information to Amon.”

“Maybe because he’s bitter about being under house arrest and having his chi blocked like a common criminal? And he doesn’t like the fact that everyone hates him here, while Amon would probably love him for creating a Korra-free city for almost a year?” Bolin suggests helpfully, before wincing and visibly deflating at the looks on Korra and Tarrlok’s faces.

“You haven’t gotten any better at that whole not putting your foot in your mouth thing, have you, champ?” Korra asks dryly. 

“Sorry, sorry. And hey, everyone doesn’t hate you!” Bolin adds, throwing an arm around the mortified-looking Tarrlok’s shoulder, obviously trying to be reassuring. “I don’t hate you, and neither does Pabu. I don’t think Asami does either…”

Korra lets her hand brush against Tarrlok’s discreetly, and when he looks down at her, she smiles at him, reminding him that she doesn’t hate him either. His expression softens a little, and Pabu leaps down from his shoulder to hers, curling his bushy tail around her neck. Korra pets him absentmindedly, trying to distract herself from how much Bolin’s unthinking words had disturbed her. The thing was…when he put it that way, it was actually plausible. If Tarrlok didn’t love her so much, and hate Amon for terrorizing her (as well as making his own life hell, politically speaking)–

Well, she knows that Tarrlok loves power. Even though he’s definitely changed, and he’s told her that being away from positions of power makes him feel farther away from Yakone… It still must be hard, to have lost his position of authority, and have everybody distrust him and treat him like dirt. He’s used to being respected, as a councilman in Republic City; as the town’s teacher in the Earth Kingdom. Amon would certainly give him the respect and gratitude he’s not getting here, as a way of thanking him for getting her out of his way for so long.

Korra shakes the thoughts away, disconcerted. Tarrlok would never do that. The old Tarrlok, maybe, but she can’t imagine him ever betraying her now.

Bolin pushes the door open, and the three of them enter the sitting room. Tenzin, Lin, Saikhan, Mako, and Asami are already sitting, and they join them at the end of the table. Lin starts the council meeting without preamble, clearing her throat and tapping her pen on the table. “The first and most important decision we need to make is if - or when - we should reveal to the public, and the Equalists, that Korra is back in Republic City.”

“I think we should hold a press conference as soon as possible,” Saikhan says, glancing at her. “The news that the Avatar has returned will raise morale among the people of the city. It may also cause significant apprehension among Amon and his followers, especially the new recruits to the Equalist cause who only joined after Avatar Korra’s - disappearance.”

“I don’t think so,” Mako argues, at once. “What if Amon comes after Korra once he hears she’s back? We should just keep this quiet for as long as we can, until we’re about to begin our final strike against the Equalist headquarters. Then Korra can come along and take down Amon, with our help.”

Tenzin opens his mouth, nodding in agreement, and Korra shakes her head, cutting in. “Wait.”

Everybody’s eyes turn to her, and she takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to hide in the shadows at Air Temple Island,” she forces out, unable to believe what she is about to do. “I want _everybody_ , benders and non-benders, Equalists and not-Equalists, to know I’m back. I’ll do a press conference - but no speechwriters this time,” she adds hastily, looking at Tenzin. “I want to speak to Amon directly.”

Korra literally sees the color drain from everybody’s faces. It would have been funny, under any other circumstances. Tarrlok recovers first, as she had guessed he would. “Absolutely not,” he snaps, undoubtedly remembering the time she had shoved him out of the way at that task force press conference and grabbed the microphone, more than a year ago. _It’s been more than a year since then_ , she realizes, with a jolt. It’s about time that she puts her fear of Amon to rest. “Do you remember what happened last time you spoke to Amon directly?”

Korra glares at him, thinking back to the many times he’s comforted her after nightmares; listened to her fears and reassured her. “You know I do.”

The others glance between them curiously, and she rushes on, ignoring the telltale blush spreading across her cheeks. “I want to talk to Amon directly and give him a chance to back down. Look - Asami says that the Equalists are building mecha-tanks, airplanes, and bombs, and they’re going to drop those on the city. They’ll definitely come after Air Temple Island too. If the city goes to war, _lots_ of people will be hurt or killed, and the whole city will be destroyed! I don’t want any of that to happen. I - I want to try and resolve this with as little violence possible." 

What Aang had said to her, the first time they had met in the Spirit World, echoes in her mind. 

_“I’ve been watching over you since you were born, Korra. I’ve seen you grow up, and I know you. You’re great, you really are!” Aang grins at her proudly, and the sight fills her heart with warmth. “You’re an an amazing and talented bender, too. But I really think it’s time for you to understand that fighting, combat, and confrontation, are not always the way to find answers to the problems that you face. Using force shouldn’t be your first resort for every difficult situation that you’re in. As the Avatar, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, you’re going to have to resolve issues and maintain balance not through fighting - but by using patience, diplomacy, a thorough understanding of the opposite viewpoint, and good communication.”_

_Korra blinks, taken aback. Her first, reflexive instinct is to feel defensive…but she can’t. This is Aang talking to her, one of the wisest Avatars to have ever lived, and she has to trust him. He would never give her poor guidance. “All right,” she says uncertainly, still unsure of how to apply his advice to her problem._

_Aang rests his hand over hers. “Trust me,” he tells her earnestly. “This is an important lesson for you to learn. It’ll help you a lot when it’s time for you to deal with the Equalists back in Republic City._

Tenzin looks at her as if he’s seeing someone else entirely, while Bolin stares. "Who are you, and what have you done with Korra?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Tarrlok asks, narrowing his eyes, and Korra realizes what Tenzin had disliked so much about working with him. “You want to _negotiate_ with the most dangerous, radical terrorist in recent history?”

“Hey,” Asami speaks up, resting her hand on Korra’s arm. “Korra is right. This isn’t just about Amon; it’s about the safety of all the people on his side and ours.”

“Of course this serves your interests,” Tarrlok says dismissively. “You work so closely with the enemy that sympathizing with them is unavoidable.”

Asami bristles, and Mako leans over the table, glaring at Tarrlok. “You have no right to accuse her, you–”

“Enough!” Lin snaps, looking at all of them disapprovingly. “We have enough problems without fighting amongst ourselves and squabbling like children. And I won’t have anybody casting aspersions on anybody else’s loyalty without proof. Is that clear?”

Tarrlok looks as if he would like to point out that that was exactly what she had done to him earlier, but to Korra’s relief, he exhales and holds his tongue. Teaching a classroom of a few dozen young children really had done wonders for helping him keep that temper in check.

“Now, back to the issue at hand,” Tenzin says slowly, folding his hands in his robes. “Korra, diplomacy is a good thing, and I’m pleased that was the first approach that came to your mind. Avatar Aang resolved the majority of the conflicts he faced,on a large and small scale through peaceful means, and that drastically reduced the amounts of human suffering that would have taken place if violent conflicts and war broke out.”

“With all due respect,” Tarrlok says, succeeding in actually sounding respectful, and Korra blinks, taken aback. Normally when he says that, it precedes a statement dripping in pure condescension. “Avatar Aang never faced a situation like this. Extreme problems call for extreme solutions, and force is the only way to deal with this threat. Amon and the Equalists have kidnapped and taken the bending from thirty of the police force’s best officers, among many other innocent benders.” He glances at Lin and Saikhan, and then at Mako and Bolin. “They are clearly dangerous and beyond reason. We would be foolish to show any of Amon’s supporters mercy. They have certainly shown us none." 

Lin and Saikhan look down at the table, clearly pained by the memory of the police kidnappings. Her friends look pensive as well, and Korra is reminded powerfully of the reason that she and Tarrlok clashed so violently in the first place, on that night in City Hall. She had been driven to confront him because of his forceful, aggressive - _unreasonable_ \- approach in dealing with the Equalist threat. Which he defined as "all non-benders.”

It’s a strange realization - that no matter how much her relationship with Tarrlok has evolved since then, and the fact that he’s come to care about her so much…underneath all of that, his basic nature hasn’t changed. He’s still ruthless and cold, when it comes to dealing with people. _Extreme_ , as he had said.

She shakes her head at him slowly. “I think you’re wrong.”

“Trust me,” Tarrlok sighs, glancing at Tenzin. “Not even an Avatar can convince a dangerous, irrational enemy like this to back down.”

_But that’s what I did to you, didn’t I?_ Korra thinks to herself. She stays quiet, though, and only gives him a noncommittal shrug.

-

In the end, after almost an hour of argument, Korra gets her way. It is Lin’s vote that is the deciding factor. _As much as I don’t think negotiation can work, we have to try_ , she had said wearily. _The weapons that the Equalists are manufacturing are a serious threat, and the human cost of a war will be too high._

Saikhan offers to put a team of speechwriters together, but Korra shakes her head. “I can handle this myself. Tenzin and Tarrlok can read it over when I’m done, since they’ve written tons of speeches before.”

Just as Lin declares the meeting adjourned and they’re all getting ready to leave, she feels something brush her leg under the table. Tarrlok rises, the expression on his face carefully blank, and leaves the room. Korra watches him go, before mumbling something about a pebble in her boot, and ducking down. 

There’s a neatly folded note near her foot, and her heart beats a little faster as she pulls it open. It’s written in Tarrlok’s neat, familiar handwriting, in the dark blue ink of the expensive pen the town’s mayor had given him as a parting gift. _I’ll be in the caves behind the island in half an hour._

She reads it twice and then stands, casually slipping it into her pocket.

-

The beaches on Air Temple Island are beautiful, and it is grossly unfair that Tenzin should own this entire stretch of prime real estate solely by virtue of his father being one of the city’s founders. From here, Tarrlok can almost see his home, on the other side of Yue Bay. He had chosen it specifically for its magnificent views of the bay on one side and the Mo Ce Sea on the other. He had spent most nights over the past couple of years working late at his office, but he had enjoyed the rare evenings he had spent at home, sitting in his library and watching the sun set over the ocean.

Tarrlok rests his hand against the wall of the cave and closes his eyes briefly, struggling to come to terms with the wave of homesickness that sweeps over him. He isn’t sure which home he’s missing - the expansive, richly furnished and decorated mansion across the bay, or the small blue house in the Earth Kingdom that he had shared with Korra.

When Chief Beifong had cleared him of all criminal charges, he had been informed that his house was his own again, and all positions inside had been mostly undamaged in the search for evidence. The first things he had thought of were his books, his collection of art, and his collection of antique Earth Kingdom china. Oddly enough, of all the luxuries and beautiful things in his home, the china had been one of the things he’d missed the most. He had told Korra that once, and she had laughed at him. _Plates?_ she asked dubiously. _Plates and teacups and bowls? You are such a priss._

Tarrlok had wanted to tell her that she would understand if she saw them - but he had stayed quiet. Because there was no way he could ever go back; no way either of them would see anything in his house in Republic City ever again. He had never gotten the chance to invite Korra over for dinner, like he had hopelessly, irrationally dreamed of doing. He hadn’t cooked her a traditional Water Tribe meal, one that she was undoubtedly homesick for, and talked to her as they shared it together. Instead, he had attacked and bloodbended her in City Hall, and then kidnapped her, dragging her away from everything that she knew. The girl who had reminded him so much of his lost brother; the girl he had wanted so much to befriend.

The thought that he might get that second chance is surreal. That he will be able to invite Korra over for dinner properly, like he had never really done. He can show her around his house - she’ll enjoy the art collection; she had told him once that she felt it was one of the only ways she could connect with her past lives. He has a room full of books on martial arts throughout history and across the world that she would love to read, and–

_Don’t get ahead of yourself,_ Tarrlok tells himself sharply, glancing up at the position of the rising moon in the sky. It’s been almost half an hour, and he still doesn’t know whether Korra is even going to meet him here or not. She might have gone off to spend time with her friends instead. The thought stings a little, but it’s not an unexpected prospect. Regardless of her promises, on some level, he had known that things would change. Now that she’s back amongst people her own age…

_What would she want with you?_ The dark, scornful voice speaks up again. _They care about her, and all you did was put her through an experience no seventeen-year-old should have to go through._

Tarrlok hears movement - footsteps on the rocks outside - and he looks up, jolted out of his reverie. The last thing he needs is for a team of patrolling officers to find him out here and question what he’s doing outside alone. His shoulders relax when Korra peers into the cave, her eyes widening. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you for ages,” she says grumpily, making her way inside.

She hugs him as soon as she gets close enough, and Tarrlok wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head, trying to hide his relief. Korra sighs, and he realizes that this is the first time the two of them have been alone together since arriving in Republic City.

He pulls back slightly and touches her cheek, and Korra wordlessly tilts her face up to his for a kiss. Hardly a few moments pass before her fist collides with his shoulder, though, and Tarrlok pulls back, wincing. “What was that for?”

Korra glowers at him. “For being a jerk during the meeting, to me and Asami. Didn’t living a town full of non-benders prove to you that not all non-benders are dangerous Equalist sympathizers? But you don’t trust her, just because she’s our only non-bender.”

“I…” Tarrlok relents, thinking back to all the townspeople that the two of them had lived alongside. “Yes, it did. But her father’s a known Equalist–”

“Yeah,” Korra retorts, staring at him coolly. “Because everybody turns out just like their parents, right?”

He can’t meet her gaze. “Point taken,” he concedes grudgingly. “And I didn’t intend to offend you during our discussion about Amon.”

“Well, guess what,” Korra says, sulking. “You did offend me.”

She’s pouting now - genuinely, her feelings are hurt - and he reaches out to her, but she steps back. “Sometimes you treat me like I’m a stupid little kid, and I hate it! I know what I’m doing.”

Tarrlok sighs. It won’t do, to have her upset at him. Luckily, over the past several months, he’s become quite adept at coaxing her out of bad moods and into more agreeable ones. “I know you do.”

“Then _trust_ me!” she insists, her voice rising. “I know you don’t think of me like that, but I _am_ the Avatar.”

“Of course,” he says hastily. “I do respect you, it’s just that–”

Korra looks up at him with wounded, wary eyes, and the _nothing more than a half-baked Avatar in training_ , and a few other misguided, needlessly cruel slights he had leveled at her early on, linger between them. Tarrlok bridges the distance between them, kissing her lightly on the forehead. “It’s just that I want you to be safe. That’s all.”

That approach works like a charm, as it always does. Korra relaxes slightly, and gives him a small smile. “Thanks.”

They sit at the mouth of the cave, looking out over the sea and nestling against the rock wall. It’s painfully similar to their favorite place to spend time together in the Earth Kingdom, the coastline near their home. “So,” Korra says, looking up at him a little uncertainly. “…How have you been?”

There are a hundred different things that Tarrlok wants to say at once - complaints, mostly. He’s tired of having his chi points blocked twice daily, like a common criminal. The bruises at each point won’t fade and they ache constantly. He hates being cut off from his natural element like this. Almost everybody on the island studiously avoids his gaze and any contact with him, though though they have no reservations about staring. Constantly. He’s ostracized and feared and treated like a leper by the same people who used to respect him and treat him with such deference. 

They’re even wary of his _dog_ \- with the exception of Tenzin and Korra’s friends, everybody avoids Sitka like the plague. The other day, he had overheard a few of the Order of the White Lotus guards and the Republic City police officers discussing bloodbenders’ familiars. _Councilman Tenzin and Chief Beifong shouldn’t have allowed it on the island. Who knows what that bloodbender taught it to do? You’ve heard the old Northern Water Tribe stories._

_We should drive it off the island. You think it can swim?_

_Don’t even think of doing anything to it,_ one of the officers had said, sounding frightened. _Tarrlok won’t be happy if that dog drops dead or disappears all of a sudden, and bloodbenders can kill people from the inside and make it look like an accident._

Tarrlok glances away, feeling the bitterness rise in his chest like bile. “I’m as well as can be expected.”

Korra takes his hand in hers. “Hey, tigerbear,” she says softly. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not!” he explodes, despite his best efforts to stay calm, and Korra jerks back, startled. “Tell me, what use was being pardoned if I’m still going to be treated like a criminal? Even after Amon and the Equalist threat have been dealt with, there’s no chance that I will ever get my seat on the council back - and no parent in the world would allow the man - the bloodbender - who kidnapped Avatar Korra to teach their children anything.” Tarrlok buries his head in his hands, shame pricking at him like needles. As much as he has opened up to her over the past months, as much as he has confided in her, he still hates sharing his insecurities. He scoffs, unable to hold back a small, strangled laugh at the memory of his - Taruq’s - past, before he had met and married Senna. “At this rate, the only thing left for me is to return to the northern tundra and study rocks.”

Korra tugs on his arm, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t say that,” she tells him firmly. “You want to know something Master Katara once told me? She said that people’s memories are short, and–”

“No, they’re not. Look at Yakone; his reign of the city’s underworld was forty years ago, and people still remember—”

“Listen to me,” Korra says impatiently. “Within one year, Fire Lord Zuko - he was just a prince back then, I guess - went from being Aang and Katara and everyone else’s worst enemy, to becoming one of their best friends and closest allies. Nobody was thrilled to have him around either. Master Katara told me how much she hated him and distrusted him, after everything he had done to Aang. And–”

“Yes,” Tarrlok says wearily. “I know how that played out. I know they’re still friends, after all this time.”

“Fire Lord Zuko gained their trust by proving that he was trustworthy, and that he had really changed. Once you do something like that, people will start to really give you a chance.”

Tarrlok sighs again. “That might be harder than it sounds.”

“You’ll figure something out,” Korra assures him.

He flexes his fingers, staring down at his hands moodily. “If I could trap Amon for you, when the time comes - lure him somewhere isolated and ensure that he won’t fight back when you attack him…”

Korra flinches a little. “Pro tip, tigerbear. Nothing that involves bloodbending, unless you want Beifong to lock you up and personally throw away the key.”

“If it happens, it will just be you, me, and Amon. And I imagine that Amon won’t be in any condition to speak, after you’re done with him.” He takes her hand; rubs his thumb against the inside of her palm until her fingers close around his. “You and I make a good team, remember? And I’ve told you before that no non-bending farm boy could hope to face bending like mine.”

Tarrlok sees the indecision written clearly on her face. Korra is morally opposed to bloodbending, of course, but if it keeps her safe from her worst enemy…

“We’ll see what happens,” she says at last, leaning against his shoulder. “Who knows, he might even agree to back down.”

Even she sounds doubtful, and Tarrlok rolls his eyes. “Perhaps.” He likes it best when she isn’t being a hopefully naive and idealistic little girl, but she’ll wake up soon enough. He wraps an arm around her waist, trying to distract himself. “And how have you been?”

Korra immediately launches into an enthusiastic response, telling him how happy she is to see Tenzin and her friends again, how proud she is of Mako and Bolin, and how she’s relieved that everything is “cool” between her and Asami. She stops and takes a deep breath then, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “And my parents and Naga are coming tomorrow!”

Tarrlok blinks, taken aback. He can’t remember the last time he had seen Korra look this joyful, but his insides clench up with apprehension nevertheless. Korra’s parents. Possibly the two people on earth who most strongly want to see him pay for his crimes. “What?”

“Yep,” Korra says blithely. “Tenzin and I called them the night you and I got here, and they said they would take the first ship out. And that should be getting here tomorrow morning.” She beams, hardly able to contain her glee. “I can’t wait! I haven’t seen my mom and dad since I left the South Pole, and I’ve really, _really_ missed them. Naga too. She remembers me, she recognized my voice on the phone.”

Tarrlok gives her a small smile, his chest aching at the memory of how Korra had begged him to take her polar bear-dog along with them when he had forced her to leave the city; how she had cried for missing her parents while he had been holding her captive. “Good,” he says quietly. “I’m happy for you.”

She smiles, and Tarrlok is mildly surprised to realize that he actually means it. She had never looked this truly, completely happy and content in the Earth Kingdom. And he’s even more surprised to realize that it’s worth it. The strain of coming back to the city and being branded a criminal; living with the stigma of everybody knowing what he truly is, a bloodbender and a kidnapper–

_You had at least two chances to choose between what was right and what was easy,_ Yue had told him. _And you chose the latter both times._

This choice certainly hadn’t been the easy one. But when he had started a new life in the Earth Kingdom, he had resolved to be a better man. Perhaps this is some progress. 

-

Korra wakes before sunrise the next morning, a shudder running through her entire body. Her eyes snap open and she blinks a few times, all vestiges of tiredness quickly disappearing. 

She sits up, blinking at the clock on the wall. Six in the morning. Asami’s futon is already made; her bag gone from its usual hook on the wall. She must have left for work already. Korra brushes her teeth and gets ready, pulling her clothes on as fast as she can. She feels jittery from the inside out, and her hands shake a little as she drags the comb through her hair and reaches for her hair ties.

When she had been little, her mom had always wanted to comb and style her hair in elaborate braids and loopies, like all the other Water Tribe girls. Apparently, she would bat her mom’s hands away, complain, and run away, because she was too impatient to sit still for long. She would run straight to her dad and tug on the short ponytail he always wore. “Wolf tail,” she demanded, and her dad would haphazardly style her hair into the three simple ponytails. That had been the only style she could replicate when she moved into the compound. Her mom had loved to tell that story.

This is probably the second time in her entire life that she hasn’t been in the mood to eat, but Korra wanders into the kitchen out of force of habit anyway. She finds Mako standing at the stove, already in his uniform, stirring a pot of fruit porridge. He smiles when he sees her, ladling some of the porridge into a bowl. “Today’s the big day, right?”

…She thought she hadn’t been hungry, but the porridge has blueberries and lychee fruits in it. Korra takes a big bite, nodding. “I can’t wait,” she replies, her mouth full. “I couldn’t sleep. Besides knowing that you guys were in danger here, with Amon, the one thing that made it the hardest was thinking of my mom and dad.”

Mako grimaces, and it clearly takes a visible amount of effort for him to suppress a cutting comment about Tarrlok. “I’m glad that you get to see them again,” is all he says, sitting down at the table, across from her. “We got to meet them when they came to Republic City last year. They’re really nice.”

“They are pretty amazing, if I do say so myself,” Korra says proudly, before a pang of sorrow hits her, turning her sweet porridge sour in her mouth. She had really looked forward to introducing her parents to Mako and Bolin, her first friends. It was supposed to be a happy occasion - they could come to a pro-bending match and eat at Narook’s afterward, and then go sightseeing together. Instead, it must have been truly miserable for everybody. Her parents would have been sick with anxiety and despair, just like Mako, Bolin, and Asami. 

The thought passes through her mind that Tarrlok has a lot to answer for. _At least he brought me back, though,_ she thinks dully, squishing a blueberry with her spoon. 

Mako rests his hand on hers momentarily, the expression on his face softening. “Hey, it’s going to be fine. Their ship is docking at Air Temple Island, so Amon has no way of knowing that they’ll be here. And I know things are crazy now, but next time, you’ll be able to have the full Republic City experience with your mom and dad.”

Korra forces herself to smile. “Yeah.” And looking at him, hearing him talk about her parents - she can’t help but remember what Emi had told her, months ago, about how Amon and the Equalists had kidnapped and taken the bending of all the triad members in the city. She hopes that the firebender who had murdered Mako and Bolin’s parents had been one of them; that he hadn’t fled the city years ago. But that’s not enough, not really, for what he had done to her friends, and everything that he had taken away from them. She hopes that that former firebender had killed himself after, unable to cope with the loss. If that happened, maybe it’s the one good thing that has come out of Amon’s revolution…

“You’ll have to join in,” she says, in an attempt to distract herself. “Get back into the pro-bending arena, show them some of those cool under fire moves.”

“I really miss those days,” Mako says, after a minute. “Everything was so…nice and simple.”

Korra snorts, torn between the urge to laugh and wince. “And we thought things were crazy back then.”

She can’t eat much more than a bowl of breakfast, thanks to her nerves, but she keeps Mako company until he finishes. They walk out to the beach together, and she waves when he gets into the police submarine that will take him to the mainland. “That looks so weird,” she says suspiciously, standing at the beach and peering into the odd contraption. “It’s like a fish bowl. Are you sure it’s safe to go in? Why don’t I just waterbend you across?”

Mako laughs. “I’ll be fine, I’ve been in it a hundred times before. You should come with me, Bo, and Asami sometime. Bolin actually learned how to drive one of these things.”

Korra pales, shaking her head furiously. Just looking at the thing makes her feel claustrophobic. “I’ll pass. And hey…be safe out there, okay?”

He tells her that he will and waves, and then the top of the submarine closes and it sinks underwater, leaving no trace of its presence. Korra shakes her head disbelievingly, watching the faint trail of bubbles as it makes its way toward the mainland. 

She goes to stand on the far side of the beach, where Tenzin had told her the ship would dock. And she waits. So far, the horizon is clear, and it’s hard for her to stay still. It might be another hour.

Korra closes her eyes and begins mentally drafting her speech to Amon. When imagining his reaction to every sentence that comes out of her mouth becomes too stressful, she meditates, trying to clear her mind. Over her months in the Earth Kingdom, she had become much more adept at it - but she still hasn’t been able to bend even the smallest puff of air.

She opens her eyes again when the sea breeze stirs her hair, and stares at the horizon blankly. At first, when the distant speck appears, she isn’t sure whether she’s just imagining it. But it doesn’t fade when she blinks. It seems to get closer by the minute, instead.

Korra wipes her shaking, sweaty palms on her pants. She knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that her mom and dad and Naga are on that ship. Her parents are probably standing on deck, craning their necks to try and catch a glimpse of the island. Of her. She’s been patient for months and months, so thirty more minutes shouldn’t be this unbearable, but it is. Her patience can only stretch so far.

She remembers something just in time, and reaches up to her neck, startled. Her betrothal necklace. It had been a decision she had made with some trepidation, but she hadn’t stopped wearing it upon her arrival in Republic City. Her friends don’t recognize it for what it is - _that’s a pretty necklace_ , Bolin had told her over dinner a couple of days ago - and Tenzin is too preoccupied to notice that she’s still wearing it. Her parents won’t make the same mistake, of course, and they’re familiar with the northern tradition. It will definitely bring up some uncomfortable questions, questions that she has no desire to answer.

After a moment of hesitation, Korra removes the necklace, her fingers working at the silken knot. Her neck feels bare without it; she had grown used to the feeling of the heavy stone nestled against the hollow of her throat. Aside from sleeping and showering, she hasn’t been without it since Tarrlok had given it to her, on the night of her eighteenth birthday.

She slips the necklace into her pocket, zips it up so that it will be safe, and tries not to think about how Tarrlok would feel if he knew. It’s not that she’s _ashamed_ , really. It’s just that other people won’t understand.

The ship is still a distant speck on the horizon, and Korra makes up her mind in a split second. The water is cool, when she wades in. She contemplates waterbending the ship to her, but it’s still slightly out of reach, and she doesn’t want to wait. Plus, the sudden motion will probably make Naga seasick, and it would be unfair to the ship’s captain to have to clean out gallons of polar bear-dog vomit from the cargo hold. Korra is submerged to her shoulders after a few more steps, and then she takes a deep breath, diving right in.

This is the open sea, different from Yue Bay, but she can swim just as quickly and effortlessly with her waterbending. Within a few minutes, she’s right up against the massive gray hull of the ship. Korra knocks on it with a grin, wondering if Naga can hear her from inside. Her lungs feel like they’re going to burst from anticipation, and she twirls around underwater, summoning all of her strength.

The narrow, spinning cyclone pushes her to the water’s surface and then ten feet above it in an instant. Korra holds it for a second, long enough to see her mom and dad on deck below, and releases it, jumping into their waiting arms as the cyclone spins back down to the sea.

They hug her so tightly her feet leave the ground and it drives the breath from her body, cutting off her cry of happiness. They don’t seem to mind the fact that she’s dripping wet and covered in seaweed. Korra laughs until she cries, burying her head against her dad’s shoulder and feeling her mom rub her back. They’re both talking at once, reassuring her, telling her that it’s all right now, don’t cry, and that they love her, and their voices blend into one. It’s the best sound in the world, and she can’t believe that she ever took it for granted. 

When they finally draw apart, her dad wrapping an arm around her mom as she sniffles, Korra gets her first real look at her parents in more than a year. What she sees makes her break down all over again, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. Her parents are smiling through their tears, but they look so–

Old. Older than she remembers, older than their years. Her mom’s face is lined, and her dad’s hair and beard are streaked with gray. The stress and despair of the past months are written all over them, and it’s almost enough to make her knees buckle. Korra chokes back a sob, suddenly overwhelmed by guilt, and hugs them again. “I’m so sorry,” she manages, closing her eyes, as her mom wipes her tears away. Her throat and chest and eyes are hurting from all the tears, but it feels good to finally get the words that have plagued her for months out into the open. “I’m so sorry for everything. I’m sorry I snuck out of Tenzin’s house - and that I went and confronted Tarrlok at night, by myself - I’m sorry for putting you through this–”

“No, sweetie,” her mom says, her voice breaking. “It’s not your fault.”

Tonraq grips her by the shoulders, looking into her eyes firmly, and the anguish on his face makes her look away. “Korra, listen to me. You have nothing to apologize for. _Nothing._ The only person at fault here is the man who did this to you.”

Senna touches her arm, her worry obvious. “What happened, Korra? All Tenzin told us on the phone was that Councilman Tarrlok brought you back.”

Her dad’s expression darkens, his hands clenching into fists. “Tell me that there wasn’t some kind of plea deal involved,” he says tersely. “That he didn’t just do it to save his own skin. Master Katara and Chief Arkut said that happens in big cities like this one–”

“Leave that for now, Tonraq. Korra, are you all right?” Senna asks, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and Korra leans her head into the touch. “Yue came to us on the night of your birthday and told us you were well, healthy and unharmed, but…”

Korra blinks, stunned. Yue had heard her prayer. “I’m fine, mom,” she says hastily. “Tarrlok never hurt me.” She’s told this white lie so many times now that it slips out of her mouth with ease, and her parents’ shoulders slump with visible relief.

“Thank the spirits,” Tonraq says fervently, pulling her into an embrace. “We were so worried–”

His voice cracks, and Korra blinks hard, looking up at him. She’s been dreading delivering this news for months, but it’s best just to get it over with. “But dad,” she says. “About the plea deal thing you mentioned…”

She doesn’t even have to finish her sentence. Tonraq’s eyes widen in disbelief, and then he curses so loudly that Senna winces. “What? That bastard–”

“ _Tonraq_.”

“Dad–”

“That bastard should be sent back to the North Pole to face Water Tribe justice! He was their representative, wasn’t he? Chief Kontak will understand that life imprisonment in the wasteland or execution are the only fitting sentences for a crime like this.”

Korra swallows over her dry throat. “Tarrlok’s a citizen of the United Republic and Republic City. He’s lived here since he was twenty-three.” Her head spins. The North Pole doesn’t know that she and Tarrlok are back yet, unless Chief Arkut has already sent a letter. Can they recall Tarrlok? She doesn’t think so, but–

“Still,” her dad’s voice cuts into her thoughts. “Maybe if you speak to the police chief directly. They’ll take your opinion seriously, because you were the victim.”

Korra takes a deep breath, bracing herself. It’s best to face this head-on. Might as well deal with this now than later, on the island. “Actually,” she says levelly. “I supported the idea, because he did choose to bring me back.”

Tonraq stares, aghast. “What? Korra…what?”

“Tonraq,” Senna says calmly. “I’m sure she has her reasons–”

Her dad shakes his head, obviously bewildered. “How could you support him, after what he did to you?”

Korra can just tell that her “ _we became friends_ ” speech is not going to cut it right now. “Mom,” she says, looking to Senna for supplication. “I would still be stuck in the middle of nowhere if Tarrlok hadn’t felt guilty about what he had done, and wanted to make things right for me. And Republic City,” she adds belatedly.

Senna opens her mouth to speak - but then, thankfully, a distraction presents itself in the form of a muffled howl from beneath their feet, and Korra jumps. “Naga!” She looks at her parents hopefully, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Can I?”

They exchange glances, unable to hold back small smiles. “Of course,” Senna tells her.

The two of them lead her down to the cargo hold, and Korra nearly falls down the steps in her haste. The dark hold smells of polar bear-dog. Naga is curled up against the far wall, and to her delight, her best friend looks happy and healthy, her coat shining and eyes bright. The sound that comes out of Korra’s mouth is like nothing human, as she launches herself at Naga, hugging her tightly around the neck and burying her face in her fur. “I’m back,” she says, over and over again. “I _missed_ you.”

Naga barks happily, her entire body trembling with the force of her tail wagging, and shakes Korra free. Tonraq and Senna laugh as Naga licks her from head to toe, knocking her over, and then sniffs her enthusiastically.

Korra lies on the floor and laughs until her ribs hurt, scratching Naga’s ruff and underneath her chin, all fears of her companion forgetting her vanishing. Her parents come and help her up, and they hug her as Naga nuzzles close, eager to be included. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of this,” her dad says, stroking her hair, and petting Naga. “Seeing you two together again, just like when you were little.”

Korra smiles, looking around at her family. For the first time in a long time, she feels truly at peace. “I’m so happy,” she says, with feeling. “Now that you guys are here.”

Her mom kisses her on the cheek. “We are, too.”

-

Tarrlok is just getting dressed for the morning, patiently combing out his long hair, when he hears the chatter of excited voices drifting in from his open window. Sitka stirs, lifting her head from the floor, her ears perking up. She whines, soft and inquisitive, and Tarrlok pets her as he rises, walking over to the window.

He takes one look out and steps back hastily. There’s a large ship anchored close to the island, and on the sand, a contingent of Order of the White Lotus guards awaits. It’s the truly massive polar bear-dog walking up to the beach that draws his attention, though. That, along with her three riders. When they get to solid land, the animal crouches with surprising grace, and Korra takes her parents’ hands, helping them dismount.

It’s his first glimpse of them, and it’s at too much of a distance for him to form a real impression. But Tarrlok can see Korra’s mother put an arm around her waist, holding her close, and Korra takes her father’s arm, pointing at something on the other side of the island. Naga follows at their side as they walk.

They look like the happy, loving family he had envisioned, just as Korra had always told him; reunited after so long. Tarrlok has to force himself to look away, to retreat from the window. He goes back to his mirror and straightens his jacket and the fur trim on his shoulders.

It’s pathetic, that he’s jealous of her for this, of all things. Once, he had envied Korra for her power and influence, for the fact that she holds the most prestigious, respected title in the world. _And she’s not even worthy of it; she’s so thoughtless and immature,_ he would think spitefully, back when he had still been the chairman of the council. Those thoughts had vanished, as he had grown closer to her, and eventually come to love her. 

But this has remained. Korra would talk about her relationship with her parents; how much they loved her, how close they were, the fun things they would do together when she could sneak away from the compound. And from everything she said, it was painfully clear that her parents loved one another. _I always wanted to have a love like theirs_ , Korra had told him once.

She would talk, and he would flash back. _My dad and I loved listening to pro-bending on the radio._ And Tarrlok would remember the stunning force behind Yakone’s blows, and how each strike left him reeling - eyes blackened, blood in his mouth. _Useless!_ Yakone would scream at him, eyes bloodshot. _You should have been the one to run - if Noatak were still here–_ With Yakone, after Noatak, it was either drinking, depression, or rage.

_Once my dad and I tried to make a three-layer birthday cake for my mom. It exploded and the mess was scary. But my dad had painted a landscape for her, of the place they kissed for the first time, and she loved that, so it was okay._

Yakone screaming at his mouther, grabbing her arm and wrenching her close with such brutal strength that she had cried out, shielding her face–

He would stroke Korra’s hair and hold her close. _I want what you have,_ he would think.

Tarrlok picks up his comb and finishes combing his hair, slowly and mechanically. _You should probably stay in tomorrow,_ Korra had told him last night, before they had parted. She’d looked away guiltily. _Just in case. I don’t want…_

She hesitated, and he kissed her softly. _I understand._

He ties his hair back in one single ponytail. _You haven’t changed your hair_ , Korra had pointed out, surprised, as they sat on the beach.

_No,_ was all he had said, gently tugging on one of her ponytails in an attempt to distract himself. _I realized that I prefer it like this._

Korra smiled. _Yeah, it suits you._

It does. Anything to distance himself from Yakone. Anything to distance himself from the man he had been, the one who had attacked and abducted her. 

But it’s still not enough.

It still won’t make Korra any less ashamed to introduce him to her parents, or to tell her friends the truth.

-

Aside from walking Sitka down the most deserted stretch of beach on the island - the one Korra is least likely to include on her parents’ tour - Tarrlok spends most of the day in his room. He practices forms, losing himself in the steady, repetitive routines, has a training session with Sitka, and then paces the length of the room. By the time he’s finished planning, it’s dark outside and a hush has fallen over the island.

Korra had told him that she wouldn’t be able to get away tonight, but Tarrlok slips outside anyway, quietly sliding the door shut behind him. Nobody had come to block his chi points this evening, which means that he will be able to waterbend for the first time in days. 

To his surprise, he finds Korra standing on the coastline, at the water’s edge, looking at the moon. He is just about to call out to her when she turns to face him, hearing his footfalls on the sand.

It’s not Korra.

Tarrlok freezes, taken aback. With the dress, and the two braids - it had been an easy mistake to make. He had grown so used to seeing Korra like that, before they had returned to Republic City. For a second, he had forgotten. 

There’s no question of who this is. Korra shares a striking resemblance to her mother, and from the stricken look on her face, it’s clear that Senna recognizes him as well. Undoubtedly she and her husband would have seen photographs of him in the newspaper articles reporting their daughter’s abduction, and a mother isn’t likely to forget the face of the man who attacked and kidnapped her child.

Tarrlok almost flinches when she speaks; her voice is so like Korra’s. “Councilman Tarrlok?” Senna asks warily, tentatively. Her shoulders are tense, but there’s no fear in her face or body language, even though she’s a healer with no combat training, alone, facing a known bloodbender.

“Yes,” he replies, trying to maintain his composure. He can’t read her - unlike Korra - and it sets him on edge. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He hadn’t planned this. This encounter wasn’t supposed to take place so soon. “…Just Tarrlok.”

He doesn’t see the slap coming. He doesn’t even fully register what has happened until he staggers a few steps back and then lifts a hand to his cheek, as the numbness fades and the white-hot stinging starts to set in. 

Senna stares at her own hand, visibly shaken. _My mom couldn’t even hurt a spider-fly,_ Korra had said once, rolling her eyes. _I have no idea how she had me._ She looks up at him - she’s petite, even shorter than Korra - and blinks a few times. “I’m…” She stops, and her gaze pins him to the spot. “No. I’m _not_ sorry.”

It looks like she had summoned all her courage to say those few words, and Tarrlok stays very still, careful not to make any movements that could be construed as threatening. “That’s fine,” he says quietly. “I deserved that.”

Senna studies him for a few moments, trying to determine whether the sentiment had been genuine. She turns away sharply, but not before he sees the tears welling up in her eyes. Tarrlok remains silent, struggling to decide whether he should say something or not. He has always been exceptionally good at knowing exactly what to say and when to say it, and that ability has enabled him to manipulate any situation, any interaction, any relationship, to his advantage. For once, he’s lost for words. What can anyone say to somebody they had hurt so badly?

Senna clears her throat abruptly, still not facing him. “Do you have children?”

Tarrlok raises an eyebrow at the unexpected question. “No. I’ve never been married.” _Though I proposed betrothal to your daughter._ He’s struck by the wildly inappropriate desire to laugh at the realization that his possible future mother-in-law appears to be his age. Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to cry.

She is quiet for a while, but when she speaks, the carefully restrained venom in her voice makes him tense up. “Then I don’t expect you to understand even the _slightest_ bit of the agony that my husband and I went through, because of you." 

With that, the dam bursts, and she’s talking so fast that the words trip over each other in their haste to escape. "When you have children - from the very first time you hold them in your arms, or even before - your greatest fear becomes the fear of something happening to them. Something hurting them. Something taking them away from you.” She pauses to draw breath, and her voice trembles when she continues. “Your child being the most powerful being in the world doesn’t do anything to lessen that fear. From the moment Tonraq and I realized what Korra was, we knew that she would face more dangers in her life than most people. The world has always been full of people who want to harm the Avatar, for whatever reasons. Every night, we prayed to the spirits that Korra would be safe, as her duties took her away from the South Pole.”

Senna turns to face him. The bleak expression on her face is frightening, and he knows it will haunt him for months - years - to come, until he makes his amends. If he can make his amends. “When we got that phone call from Tenzin, telling us that she had been kidnapped…” He can’t bring himself to look her in the eye. “Do you know what it’s like, to have your worst nightmare come alive?”

When he doesn’t say anything, she snaps, and her angry gesture sends a massive wave sweeping over their feet, soaking his pants underneath the knee and the hem of her skirt. “Do you?”

“No,” Tarrlok says quietly, bitter self-loathing rising in his chest like bile. “I don’t. Not like what you described. But…”

Senna stares at him incredulously, but he doesn’t back down. “Do you know who Yakone was?”

“Yes,” Senna says coldly. “Your father, the bloodbending crime lord. Tenzin told us.”

“I know it’s not the same as what you and your husband went through. I know it’s not even comparable.” When Tarrlok looks down at his hands, she does too. “I spent my entire life trying to be the opposite of Yakone, in every way. He was a filthy criminal, and a selfish, violent brute. When I was Korra’s age, I swore that I would make a name for myself in a different way than he did.” He starts waterbending, gently pulling the waves back and forth in an attempt to calm himself. Senna steps away from the water’s edge. “After I took Korra and fled to the Earth Kingdom, I saw the newspapers. I saw the headlines. _Avatar Abducted By Dangerous Bloodbender._ I saw my photographs plastered all over the front pages, beside the articles that detailed my crimes. Just like Yakone’s once were. I saw myself becoming the violent criminal that Yakone was. I had tried so hard, but in the end, I had become just like him.”

Senna stays quiet. “I never wanted to hurt Korra,” Tarrlok says, hating the way his voice catches on her name. “I kept her against her will, yes, and I prevented her from escaping, but I treated her as kindly as I could.”

“That’s what she told us,” Senna says, closing her eyes momentarily. For the first time, he notices the fine lines near her eyes and mouth. The same thing had happened to his mother in the weeks and months following Noatak’s disappearance. “Tonraq and I had no way of knowing that. Until Yue came to us on the night of Korra’s birthday, we didn’t even know if she was alive or not. And even if she was alive, we had no idea what state she was in.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s one of the few times in his life that he has genuinely meant it.

Senna wipes the corner of her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s…no. It’s not okay,” she repeats, more forcefully this time, but then she seems to relent, her shoulders slumping. “But you did bring her back to us…and I will always, _always_ be grateful to you for that, no matter what your motivations were. I think it’s the one reason that you deserve your freedom, though my husband doesn’t agree with me.”

Tarrlok hesitates, unsure of how much to disclose. “I - I care about Korra." 

Senna smiles a little sadly. "I hoped that you would,” she says, after a few moments, and that is perhaps the response he had expected the least.

-

Her parents’ stay is too short. 

They leave after just two days, and Korra cries a little when she says goodbye to them, alongside her friends. Mako, Bolin, and Asami are just as sad to see them go. All three of them get along great with her mom and dad - Mako and Bolin had spent hours listening to Senna’s stories of working as a healer, and her dad had started teaching Asami how to use Water Tribe weapons, which delighted her.

Her parents hug her friends goodbye, telling them to be careful, and that they are all invited to come to the South Pole after the situation in Republic City is resolved. They embrace her last, holding her close, and Korra clings to them. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” she mumbles, biting back the words that almost followed. _I wish I could come with you._ Once, she had been so restless, longing to leave the seclusion of the small, rural South Pole and enter the larger world. After everything that has happened in the past year, though, all she wants is to go home and be her parents’ daughter again. 

“I wish we didn’t either, princess,” her dad says softly, kissing the top of her head. Korra hadn’t thought it was possible, but he looks worse now than he had when he’d arrived here. One afternoon, she had ended up spilling the whole truth out to them, about everything that happened with Amon, and how he had threatened her on Avatar Aang Memorial Island. She hadn’t meant to; she hadn’t wanted to worry them, but it had just slipped out. She had regretted it the second she saw the ashen expressions on their faces.

Her mom cups her face in both of her hands, her palms warm against Korra’s face, and murmurs a traditional Water Tribe blessing, before kissing her on the cheek. “We love you, Korra,” she says, trying to smile, and blinking away her tears. 

Korra remembers the last time her mom had said that when saying goodbye, and her insides twist in pain. She hears the words that her mom had left unsaid - _come back to us_ \- and hanging between all of them, the echo of Amon’s words. _I will destroy you._ “I love you too,” she whispers, squeezing both of their hands.

Letting go is one of the hardest things she has ever done.

She watches as the two of them board the ship, holding hands, head bowed, and Korra bites her lip so hard that it almost bleeds. Mako puts a gentle hand on her shoulder and Asami touches her arm, and Bolin and Naga stand close in silent, solid support. The tides are strong, and it doesn’t take long for the ship to disappear into the horizon.

“Two months from now,” Bolin says decisively, “Korra, Asami, and I are going to be penguin sledding down the biggest mountain in the whole South Pole. While Mako runs after us, freaking out about how it’s not safe.”

Asami places her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. “You might want the tame thrills, Bolin, but _I’m_ going ice dodging. And it’s going to be leopard-seal season two months from now, right, Korra?”

“I do not freak out about how things are not safe,” Mako insists, injured. “I am always calm and composed. Always.”

Korra can’t help but laugh, wiping her eyes self-consciously, while Naga nuzzles against her. “You guys are the best.”

Bolin bows in an overly theatrical fashion. “Always glad to be of service, Avatar Korra. Now, may we interest you in some lunch?”

“Not right now. I should probably work on my speech to Amon.” Korra glances at the rolled-up paper sticking out of her pocket ruefully. “I haven’t even looked at it since my mom and dad got here.”

“Would you like any help?” Mako offers.

“Nah, I think I’m good. I’ll find you guys if I need anyone to bounce ideas off of.”

She waves to them, before heading in the direction of the air bison stables, Naga padding along at her side and panting contentedly. Oogi is at work with Tenzin, and two of the other flying bison had accompanied Pema and the kids to the Fire Nation, which means that one of the stables is free for them to hang out in.

“No tummy scratches now,” she tells Naga in a mock-firm tone, as the polar bear-dog flops onto the floor and Korra nestles against her side. “I know I have months to make up for, but I’ve got to get at least half a page of this thing done first.”

Naga whines, but then settles down obligingly, resting her head on the floor. After a moment of thought, Korra reaches into her pocket and pulls out the one other thing she had been hiding inside. She ties the betrothal necklace around her neck with a sigh, pressing her hand against the stone absentmindedly. She hasn’t seen Tarrlok since the night before her parents’ arrival. He’s probably been locked up in his room, only coming out after nightfall. A wise choice. She and Asami had their work cut out for them, trying to keep her dad within their line of sight at all times, so that he couldn’t sneak off to find Tarrlok and exact some kind of horribly painful vengeance.

Korra sighs again, leaning forward and burying her face in her hands, before raking her fingers through her hair and gripping it so tightly that her head starts to hurt. Her impending speech isn’t the only cause of her frustration.

When she had last seen Tarrlok, she hadn’t felt any differently than usual, except for some irritation at how he had acted during the meeting. But that was normal; sometimes they did get on each other’s nerves, as most couples did. She had still been happy to see him, because he’s her best friend and one of her favorite people. But now…well, ever since she had seen her parents again…just thinking about him is enough to make her chest tighten with anxiety. 

They had wanted to keep their relationship secret for now, and to tell people later, maybe after a year or so. Tarrlok had suggested acting as if they had just starting things up then, to avoid the raised eyebrows and shock that would occur if anyone knew that they had been involved while he was holding her captive. The idea of lying had made Korra a little uneasy at first, but she had come to terms with it, because it seemed like the only choice. Now, though, the thought of openly having a relationship with him - and telling people - makes her stomach turn. She had seen what he had done to her mom and dad. Tarrlok hadn’t actively hurt them, no, but they had been just as devastated by her disappearance as she had feared. She had overheard her parents talking to Tenzin last night, when bringing Naga in from a walk, and it had been enough to make her retreat to the bathroom, turn on the shower to mask the noise, and cry.

Both of them had fallen into a deep, toxic mix of depression and anxiety. They couldn’t sleep for more than a few hours every night because of the nightmares - either of finding her body, or _never_ finding it, and spending the rest of their lives in a state of uncertainty. Waiting, always waiting. The lack of sleep and the distraction had taken its toll on her dad - one day, on a routine hunt, he had slipped up and been attacked by a small pack of wolves. Senna had murmured something about sleeping in her bedroom, sometimes, and how she had wished that Korra wore perfume, like other girls her age, so that at least there would be something of her scent lingering in the small room. _All I have is her pro-bending posters, her old stuffed polar bear-dog, and a few hairs clinging to her pillow. I can’t even tell if they’re hers or mine._

Korra had lost it then, and crept away before she could make a sound. It had taken half an hour to cry out all of her tears.

What will her parents think, if she comes out and says she loves the man who had put them through eight long months of such suffering? It just - it seems almost monstrous, to do that to them. It will hurt them, and how can she do that? Her dad is already having a really hard time coping with the fact that she pretty much saved Tarrlok from facing the legal consequences of his crimes.

It’s not just her parents, either. How are her friends going to feel about it? They’ll undoubtedly question her sanity. As bad as it makes her feel to think it, it’s also obvious that Tarrlok doesn’t fit in with her friends. She can’t imagine him sitting next to Asami and watching Fire Ferret matches at the pro-bending arena, or just hanging out with them at Narook’s or wherever. Not only is he way older - old enough to be one of their parents, technically - but she doubts that Mako and Asami will ever be okay with him, after everything he’s done. There’s Tenzin and Pema, too. They didn’t like Tarrlok even before any of this, and now they probably loathe him. If she chooses to be with him, they might think of her as a poor role model for their daughters. Which is understandable, but she still hates the thought of not being able to spend time with the airbender kids. She’s known them since they were born - she still remembers the first time baby Jinora came to the South Pole with her parents.

The truth is that everyone will judge her for this, and when the _media_ learns about it - well. She can’t think of anybody who will be able to accept it and honestly be okay with it.

Korra exhales slowly, petting Naga and trying to relax. If she only had someone she could confide this to; someone who could listen to the mess of doubt and hesitation inside her and help her sort through it… Because the thing is, she had promised Tarrlok that things between them wouldn’t change once they got back to Republic City. She had given him her word. 

Both Tenzin and Asami had told her that everything she had promised him, she had just agreed to because that was what it took for Tarrlok to bring her back - but it’s more than that, it means _more_ than that, and they have no idea. She knows how much Tarrlok values his relationship with her, and how he had feared that returning to Republic City would compromise it. The truth is that she is one of the only people he trusts, and even contemplating breaking that trust makes Korra feel a little sick. Nobody else knows how much he’s been through, and how difficult his life has been. He has told her that she makes him happy, she _knows_ that she makes him happy, and to take that away after clearly promising she wouldn’t…that seems cruel, too. It seems manipulating and cold and exploitative, and that’s not her.

Besides, she can’t forget that Tarrlok had brought her back. Which is possibly one of the only purely unselfish decisions he has ever made. He loved her enough to prioritize her well-being over his own interests, and this is a man who always, _always_ acts in his own best interests. She can’t shake the awful feeling that, no matter what, she _owes_ him for that.

It’s not even that she hates him, that she’s disgusted by him, and feels that staying in this relationship is the only way to repay the debt she owes him. No. That would be simpler, actually. It’s the fact that she genuinely cares for Tarrlok, despite everything, that makes it even more complicated. If they lived in a vacuum, if it was just the two of them in some place where nobody knew who they really were, she would have no problem with staying with him forever. But that isn’t realistic, and even she knows that.

Korra closes her eyes, rubbing her aching head. So much for working on her speech. A bark jolts her out of her reverie a few moments later, and she sits up straight, some of the knot of tension inside her loosening. “Sitka!”

Sitka stands at the stable doors, wagging her tail at rapid speeds. Naga lifts her head from the floor, giving a soft, querulous whine, and Korra pats her once before getting up and running over to Sitka, sinking to her knees and petting the smaller dog’s head and ruff, hugging her around the neck. Sitka licks her, and Korra laughs, kissing her on the cheek. “How are you, champ? I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

“She’s been well. I think she misses you and your friends, though." 

Tarrlok walks up to the stable, casting a wary glance at Naga, but then he smiles at her, and the affection in it makes her cheeks go warm. "How was the visit with your parents?”

“It was amazing! I just wish they could have stayed longer.” Korra stands, and guilt for her earlier thoughts makes her slip her hand into his, after glancing around to make sure that their stretch of the island is deserted. She’s uncomfortably sure that he had noticed, but he squeezes her hand anyway.

Naga sits all the way up, tilting her head in curiosity. Tarrlok shakes his head in amazement, looking between Naga and Sitka. “They do look similar.”

“I told you,” Korra replies smugly. When Naga stands up, taking a step toward them, Tarrlok tenses up, moving protectively toward Sitka. “It’s okay,” she assures him. “Naga just wants to say hi.”

Tarrlok’s eyes don’t leave Naga - she had forgotten that most people, especially Water Tribe natives, found her companion extremely intimidating, if not outright terrifying. Polar bear-dogs are the apex predators and the largest, most dangerous land animals in the polar regions, after all. “Is it safe?” he asks cautiously. “She won’t–”

“No, no! No way! We trained her to only eat seafood.”

Sitka trots up to Naga, quite unafraid, and when Naga leans down, wagging her tail and touching her nose to her much smaller replica’s in an enthusiastic greeting, Korra beams, her heart filling with happiness. Sitka had been her comfort and companion for the past eight months, and she had looked out for her, in her own way - just like Naga had, for the past ten years.

Naga crouches down on her front legs in an invitation to play, and Sitka runs around her legs in circles, obviously thrilled to have another dog to play with. Naga follows Sitka to the door to the stables, but when Sitka crosses the threshold, Naga stops dead, staring at Tarrlok, and Korra feels his pulse quicken. “I think she wants to say hi to you too,” she murmurs, though the expression on Naga’s face is closed-off and guarded, quite unlike her usual demeanor.

Tarrlok hesitates. “Very well.”

He stays ramrod-straight and stiff, and Korra steps away from him, touching Naga lightly. “Hey,” she says softly. “This is Tarrlok. He’s my friend.”

Naga looks right at her, and the expression - the _question_ \- in her eyes sends a shiver of unease down Korra’s spine. For all the years that they’ve spent together, sometimes Naga still surprises her with how smart she can be…and how she _remembers._ _Throughout recorded Water Tribe history, no human has ever had interaction with a member of this species like you have_ , Chief Arkut had told her, once. _Maybe when you retire, you can write a book about everything you’ve learned._ “Yeah,” she replies, swallowing over her dry throat. “He’s the one.”

Naga takes one step forward, lowering her head to sniff Tarrlok. She goes for his neck first, and then his shoulders, arms, chest. He keeps his expression remarkably impassive, considering the fact that he’s inches away from teeth half the length of his arm, though his hands shake a little. 

Water Tribe legend says that polar bear-dogs can smell fear, and that they can smell predators. If a mother polar bear-dog detects a whiff of threatening intent on anybody who is any danger to her young - whether it is a wolf or a human…

Naga pulls back from Tarrlok, and then, without baring her teeth, she growls, the sound low and distinctly menacing. He tenses up - he doesn’t know what he’s preparing for; no human can defend itself against a creature like this - but she walks past him without a second glance, following Sitka into the sunshine.

Tarrlok lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He looks at Korra, who seems shaken. “I’m not sure your dog approves of me.”

Korra shakes her head, trying to recover. “I’ve never seen her do that to anyone before, but I think that she was just giving you some kind of warning.”

“Don’t worry.” He reaches out and takes her hand. “I promise that I’ll never spirit you away ever again.”

He had meant for the words to be a joke, but Korra just looks at him sadly, and wraps her arms around him, resting her head against his chest. It’s obvious that she’s worried about her upcoming speech, and Tarrlok holds her close, telling her that everything is going to be all right.

-

_to be continued_

-


	14. Part Fourteen

Korra straightens with a groan, stretching her stiff muscles, before rubbing the tiredness from her eyes. She stares down at the sheets of paper spread across the kitchen table, hardly able to believe it. Finally. It’s _finally_ done. The pages are filled with crossed-out words and sentences, revisions taking up every inch of space on the margins, and her handwriting is crooked and cramped with exhaustion, but it’s done.

She gathers up the pages of her speech, sorting them until they’re in order, and the thoughts chase themselves in circles around her brain, wearing her out even further. What will Amon think of it? The press? The Equalists, Tenzin, Beifong? Does it concede too much? Too little? She had advocated finding a middle ground in the conflict between benders and non-benders, without turning to radical solutions like ridding the world of bending. She had offered some peaceful solutions of her own, like the election of a non-bender representative to the Council, and the opening of more jobs in the power, water, and construction industries to non-benders, but…

“Korra?”

The voice jolts her out of her reverie, and Korra lifts her head out of her hands, trying to smile. “Morning, Tenzin.”

He comes to join her, looking worried. “Have you been up all night?”

“Yeah, but look, I finished it!” She fixes her hopeful gaze on him. “I know you have to go to work, but do you mind reading this over for me real quick? If I need to change stuff around, I can do that today–”

Tenzin takes the papers, giving her a gentle smile. “Of course I will.”

“Thanks! It’s, uh, kind of messy, but I figured I could rewrite it later.”

Korra stares at him while he reads for a few minutes, trying to decipher his facial expression, before she realizes that she’s being weird and creepy. She gets up, attempting to distract herself by making tea for both of them, heating up some fruit porridge, and washing the bowls that she had left in the sink after demolishing eggplant rice and tofu at three in the morning. Tenzin is still reading after all that is done, his brow creased in concentration. Korra bites her lip, shifting from foot to foot in apprehension. What if it sucked? What if it needs a total rewrite?

At long last, Tenzin straightens the papers and puts them down, clearing his throat. Korra sits back down immediately, wiping her palms on her pants. “What do you think? Was it okay?”

“It was wonderful,” Tenzin replies softly, and Korra blinks, taken aback at the pride in his eyes. “The hard work that you put into your writing shows, and I like the approach you’ve taken and the alternatives you proposed. This was very intelligently and carefully thought out, and I certainly think it will give Amon and the Equalists something to consider.”

Korra blushes at the praise. She’s used to hearing what a great bender she is, but only a couple of people besides her parents have ever called her smart before. “Thanks.”

Tenzin smiles again, and there’s a little sadness in it this time. “Avatar Aang would have been proud of the way you’ve chosen to handle this conflict, Korra.”

She smooths a wrinkle from one of the papers, her heart hurting a little at the memory of the happy twelve-year-old she had met in the Spirit World. It’s the nature of life, but it seems cruel that an Avatar’s death is the only thing that can trigger the next Avatar’s birth. If only multiple Avatars could coexist and learn from one another on the mortal plane. “…I just wish that Amon could be on board with it, too.”

Tenzin sighs, taking a sip of his tea. “We can only hope.”

-

After Tenzin leaves for work, Korra rewrites her speech and takes it to Tarrlok. To her surprise, though he looks mildly disapproving of some of her proposals, he has no other criticisms to make. “As much as I usually hate saying this, I agree with Tenzin,” he says, handing it back to her. “This is an excellent address.”

It’s definitely a compliment, coming from someone as experienced with speechwriting and all the political stuff as he is, and Korra feels unexpectedly lighthearted for the rest of the day. “I _am_ smart,” she tells Naga happily, after finishing running through her airbending forms. “It’s not just something that Master Katara and Tarrlok, and Mom and Dad, told me to make me feel better.”

There’s another small council meeting that evening. Lin and Saikhan read her speech over, and after discussing it for a while, Lin nods, writing a brief note to herself in her notebook. “How does two days from now sound?”

Korra stares. “For - oh. The press conference.” Two days. It seems so sudden. “Sure.”

“It would take place at City Hall, of course…”

Everyone else keeps talking, going over the measures they will take to ensure her safe arrival at City Hall, and when Saikhan will contact the press. Korra sits numbly, listening, and as hard as she tries to stop herself, all she can think of is Amon, and the eerie, disembodied red-and-white of his mask, looming over her in the dark. _I’m saving you for last._

-

Korra spends most of the evening and the next day trying to find a way to calm her anxiety and quiet the panic welling up inside her. She hangs out with Mako, Asami, and Bolin on the beach, and calls the South Pole and talks to her parents and Master Katara. She meditates for some time, and then brushes Naga and Sitka until their coats shine, taking comfort in their soft fur and the way they nuzzle against her, pushing their cool noses against her hands and covering her palm in warm licks. She waterbends on the coast, losing herself in the gentle, repetitive rhythm of the waves lapping against the sand and rocks, and the sound of the water. Late that evening, Tarrlok finds her in one of the caves behind the island, sitting on a rock and staring out at the sea. He doesn’t say much; just sits with her and massages her shoulders until the tension dissipates, and she leans against him. His presence and silent understanding is reassurance enough. 

She still can’t eat much, when dinner comes around. Mako and Bolin hug her, before they leave for their night patrol shift, and so does Tenzin, before he goes to bed. _Try and get some sleep,_ they all say. Lin frowns and tells her that the press conference starts at eight tomorrow morning, and they will have to leave Air Temple Island at seven, so she had better be ready by then. 

Korra tries her hardest to sleep. But midnight comes and goes, and she’s still lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open. She hears movement in the dark, and she turns her head, seeing Asami make her way from the bathroom back to her futon. Instead of lying down, the other girl just sits and stares out the window, an inscrutable expression on her face. 

“Hey,” Korra says softly, and Asami jumps, startled. 

“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry–”

“No, it’s fine.” Korra sighs, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face. “I wasn’t asleep anyway.”

“Oh.” Asami hesitates, looking uncertain. “Are you worried about tomorrow?”

Korra shrugs one shoulder, plucking at a stray thread in her quilt. “Yeah,” she admits. “A little.” _A lot._

“You’ll do great, though,” Asami tells her reassuringly. “Your last speech was really good - everybody in the press was impressed by your confidence and poise.”

“Confidence and poise, huh?” She grins, pleased, before she feels her smile falter. A lot of that had been shaken in the aftermath of her encounter with Amon, and what remained had been shattered after Tarrlok had defeated her during their fight in City Hall.  “t’s not really the public speaking part that bothers me, it’s just…you know. Wondering what everyone is going to think about what I have to say. It’s kind of a bigger deal than the last speech I made, when I came to Republic City." 

"I understand.” Asami hesitates, glancing down at the floor. “I’m not sure how Amon will react to it, but I’ve been wondering about my dad.”

Korra fights the urge to wince. Asami doesn’t talk about it much, but all of them know that it’s difficult for her - seeing her dad every day during work at the Equalist weapons factories, having him think that she’s on his side, and listening to him plan their family’s future in the aftermath of the Equalist victory. _If he doesn’t back down, he’ll spend the rest of his life in jail for funding and working for a terrorist movement,_ Asami had said blankly, a few days ago. 

“Do you think anything I said might change his mind?” Korra asks slowly, hardly daring to believe it. Hiroshi is one of Amon and his Lieutenant’s most trusted allies - a personal friend, even. If anyone has any influence over them, it would be him.

Asami shrugs, her lips twisting in a frown. “I don’t know. Most of my father’s hatred of benders came from the presence of the bending triads, since they killed my mom and so many other innocent people. Now the triads have been eradicated. Regardless of Amon’s methods, the city and everyone in it is much safer, and I know my dad is happy about that.” She hesitates, thinking it over.  “I don’t think that alone is enough, though. He believes that benders have an unfair advantage in finding jobs, and that too many employers in most major industries prefer to hire benders over non-benders, because they’re able to do more work faster. You did mention that, and the necessity of lessening job discrimination and opening up more jobs to non-benders, in your speech.”

“I did.” Korra sighs. “You know, the town that Tarrlok and I lived in when we were in the Earth Kingdom was almost entirely non-benders. A lot of the men worked in the mines nearby, and they said that they got paid way less than the earthbenders who worked at the mines. My friend Roumei…"  - she can’t help but look at the row of Fire Nation idols sitting on her bedside table - "She’s a veterinarian, and her husband is a doctor. She told me once that waterbending healers have the market pretty much cornered on human and animal medicine. Both of them get paid less than a waterbending healer would too." 

"That’s exactly what my dad and a lot of others have problems with.” Asami closes her eyes briefly. “I want what you say in your speech to be enough,” she says, her voice barely audible. “I want him to hear it and tell Amon to work with you on this. And if Amon doesn’t, I want him to leave. I know that you never got to see that side of him, Korra, but my dad is a smart man, and a kind person. That part of him _has_ to be there, still, underneath every bit of propaganda that Amon fed him.”

Korra pushes her covers aside, before padding over to Asami’s futon and sitting beside her, patting her on the shoulder gingerly. “It’s going to be okay,” she says gently, her chest tightening. Nobody should have to be in a situation like this.

Asami nods, wiping the corners of her eyes. “I hope so,” she replies, her voice shaking. “I know that Amon’s vision for _equality_ won’t come to pass. I just hope that my dad won’t go down with it.”

The two of them talk for a little while longer. After Asami falls asleep, Korra makes her way back to her own futon, her steps slow and heavy, as if the weight of the whole world rests on her shoulders.

-

Korra gets a few hours of fitful sleep, but that is enough. Asami wakes her at sunrise, and she takes a little bit more care than usual in getting ready, conscious of the hundreds of photographs that will probably be snapped in the instant that she walks onstage. Before leaving the bathroom, she pauses in front of the mirror, removing her betrothal necklace and sliding it into her pocket once again. 

On her way to the kitchen, Korra runs into the one person she had wanted most - and expected least - to see. Tarrlok is fully dressed, but his long hair is in a state of tangled disarray, and he appears as though he hadn’t slept any better than she had. 

“I just wanted to wish you good luck,” he tells her. He glances around the deserted hallway once, and then steps forward, wrapping his arms around her. Korra hugs him back just as tightly, closing her eyes and focusing on the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice muffled by his anorak. “It means a lot to me.”

When they pull apart, Tarrlok brushes her bangs away from her forehead, his expression softening a little, and Korra feels something inside her relax at the gentle touch. “You are the bravest person I know,” he says, after a moment, and the look on his face is genuine and unguarded, like she hasn’t seen it since they came back to Republic City. “And I can’t think of anybody more worthy of being the Avatar than you are.”

Korra stares, utterly taken aback. He’s never said anything like this to her before. She’s never seen him _look_ at her like this before. Tarrlok loves her, sure - this isn’t the first time that he’s told her that she is smart and brave and important, but…he had been talking about Korra the person. Not Korra the Avatar. As much as he cares about her, until now, she could never really say that he _respected_ her. As a person, yes, but not as the Avatar. Definitely not. He had said as much a hundred times. The thing is, often, the two bleed into one.

“Really?” she asks, hating how her voice cracks on the first syllable. 

“Really.”

Korra doesn’t even stop to look around before she reaches up, grabbing the back of Tarrlok’s neck and pulling him down to her for a kiss. They only draw away from one another after hearing a door slam shut in another hall, and Korra gives him the best smile that she can. “See you later, tigerbear.”

Tarrlok’s lips quirk upward, but she can see the worry and strain in his features. “Take care, Avatar Korra.”

It is the first time in more than a year that he has said her title without bitterness or anger behind it, only warmth and respect, and Korra stands by and watches him go.

-

Today is one of the few days that Mako, Bolin, and Asami are all able to eat breakfast with her. Korra shovels it down without tasting anything, while Lin paces around the kitchen, taking small sips of her cup of tea. Finally, she sets it down, glancing at the clock in the corner of the kitchen. “Ready?” she asks tersely. “It’s time. Tenzin and Saikhan should be at City Hall already.”

Lin escorts them to the beach, where Korra is faced with a full contingent of grim-faced police officers, standing in front of one of those weird submarine things. It’s only too clear that they want her to get inside, and she blanches, turning to Lin and pointing to the water. “Can I just swim–”

The quelling look she receives makes the next word die with a pathetic squeak. “Absolutely _not._ ”

“Don’t worry, Korra,” Bolin whispers, patting her on the arm reassuringly, as he leads her in. “It’s totally safe, I promise.”

Her parents would have found the inside of the contraption highly fascinating, but it makes Korra claustrophobic, and she grits her teeth for the duration of the ride. The thing surfaces after twenty minutes that feel twice that long, and the second that Bolin helps her climb out and onto the dock at the mainland, Korra takes a deep breath, grateful for the fresh air.

She just manages to catch a glimpse of the small fleet of armored cars waiting at the end of the dock, before one of the police officers throws an oversized coat with a massive hood at her. “Put that on,” one of them says briskly.

Korra shrugs it on, biting back her irritation at being led around and ordered like a dog, and someone grabs the hood and pulls it over her head, hiding her distinctive hairstyle. The whole thing seems kind of pointless to her - four police officers surround her, shielding her from view, until she gets to the car.

The windows are blacked out, not that she could sit beside them, anyway; she’s squished in the middle of her bodyguard squad. “Specially reinforced glass,” one of the police officers mumbles, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. “It can withstand most attacks, but it’s better to be careful.”

Korra nods, staring at the glass blankly. She can’t help but remember something that Tarrlok had told her once, while they had still been in the Earth Kingdom. _If you go back,_ he snapped, gesturing angrily at the front door. _You’ll be a target! You’ll be in danger for the rest of your life._

The ride to City Hall passes quickly, and within minutes, Korra is safely inside and escorted to the antechamber, of sorts - the place where she will wait until Lin and Tenzin introduce her to the press. Tenzin is waiting there now, holding her speech in a folder, and Korra feels herself relax as she sees him. She hadn’t even realized how tense she was until now, and once the police officers leave, she rushes forward and gives him a hug.

Tenzin pats her head, sighing quietly. “The circumstances are so different from the last time you gave a speech here, aren’t they?”

Korra laughs a little sadly, remembering that bright, sunny day, and her carefree ride to the mainland with Tenzin, Pema, and the kids, on Oogi’s back. “That’s just what I was thinking.”

Tenzin blinks, looking far away for a few moments, and for the first time, Korra realizes just how much he must miss Pema and the kids. He hadn’t even got the chance to bond with baby Rohan, since they had left just a month or so after Rohan’s birth. “I have confidence that you will do just as well today as you did upon your arrival in Republic City,” he says softly.

Korra smiles, remembering how Jinora, Ikki, and Meelo had squeezed the breath out of her lungs in their good-luck hugs, and how Pema had taken a photograph of all of them together. _Your first official speech as the Avatar!_ she had said, beaming. _I’ll send this to your parents. They’re going to be so proud._ “Thanks, Tenzin.”

To her disappointment, he leaves to check on the press and the situation outside a little later. Korra paces around in circles for a while, before dropping into one of the armchairs and burying her face in her hands. _Be calm,_ she tells herself fiercely. _Calm as still water._

It’s no use. She’s _shaking,_ and her stomach is threatening to rebel and throw up everything she had eaten this morning, and she feels hot and cold at the same time. When she hears Lin’s voice over the microphones, addressing the assembled journalists and reporters - without saying why exactly she had called them here today - Korra stands, taking a deep breath, and fights to regain her composure. 

She listens for her cue. And when it comes, she takes another deep, steadying breath, lifts her chin, stands up straight, and walks out onto the stage.

The sea of people in front of her is even larger than it had been during her first speech. For a second, there is a hush, and then the whole crowd seems to gasp at once, as she makes her way to the podium. Voices rise in exclamations of shock, and Korra is blinded by the hundreds of flashbulbs that go off as she faces them. The lights explode behind her eyes even when she blinks. There are no faces in the crowd now - only cameras, obscuring individual features.

Then the yelling starts, each news representative vying with the other on who can make themselves more audible, until Korra can barely make sense of the tangle of voices.

“ _Where were you?”_

_“How did you escape?”_

_“How did you get back? When?”_

_“Is Councilman Tarrlok alive or dead? Did you kill him? Did the police retrieve you?”_

_“Who attacked who first, you or Tarrlok?”_

Korra has to control the impulse to knock her fist into the microphone and tell them all to shut up and let her talk. She settles with clearing her throat, and to her surprise, when she does, the silence that falls over the crowd is so thick that she could hear a pin drop. She hadn’t planned to begin her speech like this, but it’s obvious that they need some basic answers.

“The former councilman Tarrlok brought me back to Republic City, in the interests of protecting the well-being of the city and everybody inside it,” Korra says formally, ignoring the explosive reaction her words have, and the twenty new questions this one sentence sparks. “But I didn’t come here today to talk about that. I came here to speak directly to the leader of the Equalist movement. Amon…”

She begins her address, and…it’s a surreal feeling, listening to herself speak. She almost doesn’t recognize her own voice. It’s calm, steady, adult, mature. Fearless. Kind of like the recordings of Avatar Aang she had listened to and studied.

When she finishes, she pauses after the last word, savoring the feeling of pride. She had done it. As scared as she was, she had still done well. Korra nods, trying to hold back a smile. “Thank you.”

The reporters explode with questions for the third time that morning, but before she can say anything, her squad of police officers appears again, ushering her offstage and directing paranoid glances at the crowd. Mako and Bolin are the first people she sees, and they hug her tight. 

“That was _awesome!_ ” Bolin exclaims, punching the air triumphantly, while Mako grins.

“Amon’s not the only talented orator in Republic City.”

Korra blushes, as Lin gives her a rare smile. “He’s right.”

There’s no more time to speak. One of the police officers throws the stupid jacket at her and pulls up the hood again, and she’s whisked back into the armored car. Korra slumps back against the seat, watching the empty streets fly by. Instead of the expected worry and anxiety over Amon and the Equalists’ response - Asami had gone to the base, and she will report back on their reactions this evening - she’s so tired that she doesn’t feel much at all.

She had tried her best. She had done what Aang had suggested, and now, all that’s left is to wait.

Korra doesn’t even try asking if she can swim across the bay this time. She makes a face at being confronted with the hated submarine, but hops down into the hatch nevertheless. “This sucks,” she mumbles to Bolin, as it starts. “I don’t know how you ride around in this thing every day.”

“Yeah, patrolling on an eel-shark would be way cooler,” he replies, straight-faced. “Next time you go back to the South Pole, maybe you can teach me how to tame one.”

Korra laughs at the mental image, and that’s the last thing she remembers before falling asleep, leaning against his shoulder.

-

The morning dawns bright and clear in the small coastal down of Shanying, in the southeast corner of the Earth Kingdom. Roumei Chou stifles a yawn as she walks into her small kitchen, pulling the curtains away from the window and tying them back. Light streams into the room, and she stares right at it, in the hope that it will do something to wake her up. She had been up late last night, assisting Farmer Xing with the birth of one of his mares. It had been a difficult delivery, but in the end, thankfully, the mother and foal had made it through.

There’s a note from Zhen on the kitchen table, saying that Anapan had stopped by the house earlier, requesting a house call for his elderly father. The man had developed pneumonia a few weeks ago, and he hasn’t been responding to any of the medications that Zhen has been giving him. Worryingly, he seems to be developing further complications with every week that passes. 

The cup of plum tea he had left for her is still hot, and Roumei takes a sip, sitting down at the table. She shakes her head firmly, looking around for the morning paper in an attempt to distract herself from thoughts of the case. Zhen had left the the rolled-up paper on the table near the door, and she makes her way over there, picking it up and carrying it back to the table with her.

She unrolls it, wondering if there will be more news about the recent riots in Ba Sing Se, and takes another sip of her tea–

And chokes on it, slamming her cup down on the table so hard that the aged wood trembles.

Senna is on the front page of the Earth Kingdom Times. But - Roumei squints, pushing her spectacles up on her nose, and wondering if her mind is playing tricks on her. _Is_ that Senna? Why on earth would Senna be on the front page of the newspaper? It can’t be. 

But it looks just like her, despite some superficial differences. The girl in the photograph that dominates the entire front page has her hair tied up in three ponytails, and she wears a sleeveless blue top and dark pants. But her face - her face is the same. 

Roumei stares at the headline blaring from the top of the page without quite seeing it. _This just in from Republic City - the Avatar returns!_

They share an uncanny resemblance, Avatar Korra and her friend Senna. For a few moments, Roumei tells herself that that’s all it is. A resemblance. That’s all it can be. Even though the two of them look like identical twins. 

She sets the paper down numbly, without reading a single word of the article. Her mind is racing, her palms dampening with sweat. It’s unbelievable. It’s the height of ludicrousness, to think that her friend, of all people, was the kidnapped Avatar. She can’t even believe she’s even considering it, but–

But now that she thinks about it - she remembers her shock at reading the morning paper with Zhen, when the news of Avatar Korra’s kidnapping first broke. It had been all everybody in the town could talk about for days. And…it had just been a week or so after that, that Emi had offhandedly mentioned that her aunt and uncle had hired a new hunter to supply fresh game to the butcher’s shop, as well as the town restaurants. _Her name is Senna, and she’s about our age. She and her husband just moved here from the Northern Water Tribe, and her husband’s going to be the new teacher for the primary school._

Roumei hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, of course. Nobody had. It was just coincidence. Their town had a small population of Water Tribe immigrants. _Senna’s husband is way older, though,_ Emi had confided. _Older than Zhen and Lanh. It must have been an arranged marriage. They still do those up in the Water Tribes._ After the two of them had gotten to know Senna, she had mentioned in passing that Taruq was thirty-four - and hadn’t Councilman Tarrlok been about the same age, give or take a few years?

And now…now…Senna had left Shanying, so suddenly. And so soon after she had, Avatar Korra turned up in Republic City? It’s another remarkable coincidence. It’s _too_ much of a coincidence. 

Roumei pushes her cup of tea away, feeling vaguely ill, as she remembers. _Has anyone ever told you that you look a lot like Avatar Korra?_ she had asked Senna once, curiously.

Senna had paused for a second, her fork stilling on the way to her lips, before she laughed. _I get that all the time. I figure it’s some Water Tribe thing, you know. A lot of people from the North Pole went to the South after the Hundred Year War, to help them rebuild. Who knows, we might even be distantly related._

There had been other things, too. A couple of months ago, Emi had knocked on her door, worried, telling her that there was something wrong with Senna, and that she hadn’t come to work. When they had visited her, Senna had seemed…so unlike her usual tough, vibrant self. The sorrow and hopelessness had almost radiated from her, and she looked small and scared. When they had asked her what was wrong, she had just mumbled something about how she missed her parents. Both she and Emi had heard about how Senna’s dad had refused to accept her marriage to Taruq, because of the age difference, so it had made sense at the time…

Roumei sits still, letting it sink in, and the mildly queasy feeling transforms into honest revulsion as the rest of it clicks. If - the whole time - if Senna had been Avatar Korra, than Taruq - gentle, intelligent Taruq, who had been over for dinner with Senna at her place and Emi’s, and who had cooked all of them Water Tribe food on numerous occasions - was actually… Councilman Tarrlok. The bloodbender who had attacked Avatar Korra and kidnapped her.

Roumei takes a deep breath in an attempt to quell the scream building inside her. That would explain why Senna - Korra - had never said anything to them, never asked for help. If, the whole time, she was scared - but Senna _loved_ Taruq, and he had loved her, that much was obvious, and–

She can’t. She can’t wrap her mind around it.

Roumei grabs the paper and her keys, before rushing out of the house, stopping only to put a pair of slippers on. She ignores the shocked stares she gets from passerby, at her disheveled braid and the fact that she’s just wearing a robe over her thin nightgown. It doesn’t take long for her to get to Emi’s house, and she knocks on the door hard, rapping on the splintering wood until she hears movement behind the door.

Emi pulls it open, one hand resting on her stomach. She looks pale, dark circles under her eyes. If the past couple of weeks have been anything to go by, her friend has already been up for an hour or so, struggling with her morning sickness. “Hey,” she says, frowning. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. No. Not really. Read this.”

Roumei shakes the paper open, and Emi blanches as her gaze focuses on the photo. “Is that…?” She shakes her head, dazed. “They found Avatar Korra! You know, you wouldn’t believe what I just thought. She looks a lot like Senna, doesn’t she?”

Roumei stares at her, and Emi blinks, reading her expression perfectly. “…You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says, after a moment.  “Mei, I know that you believe in a lot of weird conspiracy theories, but you _can’t_ be serious, this is our friend Senna you’re talking about–”

“Emi, Senna and Taruq came to Shanying a few days after Avatar Korra and Councilman Tarrlok disappeared from Republic City. Within a couple of weeks after they left here - _really_ suddenly - Avatar Korra and Councilman Tarrlok show up in Republic City! That’s a bit too coincidental, don’t you think? And Senna never wrote to us to say that the two of them arrived in the North Pole!”

Emi opens her mouth and closes it uncertainly. “Yeah, but that doesn’t really _mean_ anything.”

Roumei points at the photograph of Avatar Korra, at a small detail that she hadn’t even noticed at first glance, with a shaking finger. “Look at that, Emi. On her right arm.”

Emi’s eyes narrow as she takes it in - the tribal tattoo, snaking in a thin strip from shoulder to elbow, on Senna - Korra - the girl’s right arm. She looks up blankly, and Roumei knows that she’s remembering the same afternoon that she is. Senna had bounded into the cafe, declaring that she had news for them, and rolled the sleeve of her dress up, proudly revealing the tattoo. The two of them had gasped and marveled over the beautiful, intricate pattern, as Senna had told them all about the Water Tribe coming-of-age tradition.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Emi repeats shakily. “It’s - the Water Tribes are a big place. I’m sure arm tattoos are common.”

Roumei recognizes the look on her best friend’s face - the dawning horror of the realization, despite the denial; the way several small things are adding up inside her head - and takes her hand. Emi takes a few deep breaths, her eyes welling up with tears. 

“The whole time…” she starts, her voice barely audible. “Why didn’t she say anything? But…Taruq, oh, spirits–”

Roumei swallows over her dry throat, understanding the feeling. Had Senna - Korra - been scared, underneath it all? Had she just been pretending to be happy? Agni, had Taruq - Tarrlok - been _hurting_ her? Bloodbending her? They could have helped, they could have done something–

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Emi says suddenly.

And she bends over and throws up right on the doorstep.

-

Korra wakes up with a shudder, rolling over and staring blearily at her collection of Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom idols. Interestingly, she had dreamed that one of the Earth Kingdom gods, a man with the head of a lion-python, had been chasing Amon through the Spirit World. Instead of being his usual calm, composed self, Amon had been running, stumbling over tree roots, glancing over his shoulder every couple of minutes, his fear palpable even with his mask on.

When she had met Aang in the Spirit World, he had briefly touched on the fact that what Amon had told his supporters at the Revelation - that he was chosen by the spirits to usher in a new era of balance - was untrue. Korra reaches out, brushing her fingers over the lion-python man. _They’re to guide you,_ Roumei had said. _To watch over you and keep you safe from harm, always._

The spirits are on her side, and that’s all the consolation and reassurance she needs to get out of bed, stretching her stiff muscles. Korra takes deep breaths as she gets ready, in an attempt to ease some of the worry inside of her. It’s been two days since her speech, and this might be the day that Amon and the Equalists respond to her. Over dinner on the night she had delivered the address, Asami had reported on the Equalist reaction to her words. 

Apparently, among the general population of Equalists, the opinion was largely positive - something that Korra almost hadn’t been able to believe. _Some people didn’t believe you were telling the truth, and said they were just meaningless platitudes from the bending establishment,_ Asami said, frowning. _However, the debate that started at that point was that you wouldn’t have made a public speech, addressed to the whole city, if you meant to go back on your word. Making a statement like that guaranteed accountability, and people liked what you had to say about opening up the job market more to non-benders, and electing a non-bender representative to the Council._

Just when Korra had started to feel pretty good about things, Lin asked Asami if she was able to get any information on the Equalist higher-ups’ response. _I visited my dad and asked him what Amon and the Lieutenant had to say,_ Asami replied after a moment, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. _He didn’t give away much…_

 _That’s a good thing, isn’t it?_ Bolin had asked earnestly. _If they hated it, they would have told your dad._

 _But,_ Mako added quietly, seeing the look on Asami’s face, and Korra had felt her heart sink.

 _But my instincts tell me that Amon won’t back down. He’s power-hungry,_ Asami said in disgust, looking around at them. _He doesn’t want to work with you, Korra, or with the Council. He doesn’t want to share power and influence; he wants to control as much of it as he can._

 _Absolute power corrupts absolutely,_ Lin murmured, under her breath. _He’s had a taste of it, as the sole leader of the Equalist movement. They practically worship him, and defer to everything he says, no matter how extreme and unreasonable. He’s not going to go back, after this._

Throughout the latter part of the conversation, Tarrlok had sat as still as a stone, his eyes blank and unreadable. Korra pushed her rice around on her plate, and she had recognized the familiarity in it. _You’re just as bad as Amon!_

She sighs, now, as she straightens her clothes and makes her way to the kitchen. It’s earlier than she normally gets up, so nobody has left for their respective jobs yet - Mako, Bolin, and Asami are all eating, and they look up and smile at her as she enters, Bolin waving a spoon in greeting. “Morning, Korra. There are blueberry muffins on the stove,” he says, his mouth full.

Korra grabs a muffin, still warm from the oven, and a cup of water, before joining them at the table and settling down in front of the radio. It’s turned to a news channel, and the broadcaster is talking about how the Republic City police force had foiled the most recent Equalist kidnapping attempt on Chunhua Tang and Lian Sha, the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom council representatives. 

Mako and Bolin look exhausted, with dark, shadowy circles underneath their eyes. They must have had a late-night patrol in the city after dinner last night, and Korra frowns as she notices the rectangular, livid bruise on Mako’s neck. “What’s that?” she asks, pointing. “Are you okay?”

He winces. “I got slammed by an un-electrified kali stick while taking down one of the kidnappers. It’s sore, but it’ll be fine. I…”

Mako trails off, looking at the radio curiously, and the rest of them follow his gaze. The reception had been clear a second ago, to the point where Korra had felt like the newscaster could have been sitting at the table with them. Now, it’s all staticky. 

“I’ll change the station,” Bolin says, reaching toward it. “Maybe it’s the wind." 

Asami places a hand on his arm, stopping him. "Wait,” she replies, narrowing her eyes. “I think–”

Korra realizes it in the next second. Her hands clench around her half-empty cup, and the water inside freezes to ice.

It’s the first time she’s heard his voice since the night of the attack on the pro-bending arena. She’s vaguely conscious of Asami’s comforting hand on her arm. All the color has drained out of Bolin’s face, and Mako’s golden eyes harden, going cold with fury.

“Good morning, citizens of Republic City. This is Amon…”

He keeps talking, and as he does, Korra feels like she can only hear one word in three. It doesn’t matter. The fact is, he’s rejecting her terms. He’s pointing out every single reason why they’re not good enough, and why she’s a dishonest, privileged, and thoroughly uninformed puppet of the corrupt bending establishment and therefore cannot be trusted…and urging other Equalists and non-benders in Republic City to not be taken in by her false promises.

She can’t even listen to all of it; she can’t listen to _any_ of it anymore. The cup grows white-hot underneath her fingers, and then shatters into a hundred pieces. Ignoring her friends’ exclamations of shock, Korra shoves her chair away from the table, the legs screeching sharply against the floor, and stumbles out of the kitchen, pushing open the first door she sees. 

The wind is blowing hard outside, rustling the leaves on the trees. It shakes branches like an angry child shakes a doll; stirring up the waves in Yue Bay, and the frustration and rage building inside of her is so terrible that she wants to scream loud enough to deafen the wind. Korra stands for a few moments, lost, before her feet take over, leading her past the air bison stables, where Naga sleeps, to one of the practice grounds off the side of the island.

There is a punching bag hanging from the solid branches of an old oak tree, and she heads right toward it, slamming her bare, unprotected fist into the heavy bag so hard that the branches shake. She settles into a fighting stance, something as familiar as breathing - _not_ like the labor-intensive hours she had spent sitting with pen to paper, sorting through her thoughts, struggling to find the right way to word things, struggling to put herself in the shoes of different people, people not like her - and batters the bag with her fists over and over again, moving faster and punching harder with every moment that passes. 

When the seams finally split and the bag falls apart, spilling stuffing onto the pristine floor, Korra buries her head in her hands, feeling herself shake with fury and desperation. There’s no air. She’s mediated, she’s practiced, she’s studied spiritual texts in the Earth Kingdom and since she came back to Republic City, but there’s nothing. She still can’t airbend, and she hadn’t been able to make Amon soften his stance on benders, either. He won’t back down, which means it’s going to come to war, and in the end, she’s no more effective an Avatar now than she had been when she first came to Republic City, more than a year ago. 

She hears soft footsteps behind her, and she tenses up, unable to face her friends like this. But the voice that says her name isn’t any of theirs, and Korra’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry about the cup,” she mumbles, her head aching. “And the bag.”

Tenzin rests a comforting hand on her shoulder. “That’s fine,” he says quietly. “Don’t worry about it.”

She says nothing, and he sighs. “I heard the broadcast on the radio while I was feeding Oogi. I’m sorry, Korra.”

Korra takes a deep breath, and as hard as she tries to sound calm, her voice shakes with barely controlled anger. “I tried _so_ hard, Tenzin. I followed Aang’s advice about trying to deal with this situation nonviolently, even when all I wanted to do at first was destroy Amon and put him down like a rabid skunk-bear. I reached out a hand to him, but he didn’t listen.”

Tenzin remains silent for a little while, a troubled expression on his face. “As much as I hate to say it, maybe Tarrlok was right,” he says heavily. “It goes against everything that my parents and I believed in, but some people are truly beyond reason. The most important thing is that you gave this your best effort. Regardless of what Amon said about you, you tried your hardest, and in the end, there’s nothing more that you can do than that.”

Korra bows her head, recognizing the truth in it. “I still can’t airbend,” she confesses bitterly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. In all of my studies of previous Avatars, they were only able to defeat their enemies once they had become fully-realized Avatars, and mastered all four elements.”

“There is absolutely _nothing_ wrong with you,” Tenzin says firmly. “You might not be able to see it, but you have grown and matured a great deal, as a person and as the Avatar, over the past year. The airbending will come when it’s ready.”

“But–”

Tenzin shakes his head. “Every case is different. Every Avatar is different, as are the circumstances and challenges they face in each new lifetime. I have confidence that you will be able to face Amon and hold your own even though you are not yet a fully realized Avatar. I know what Amon said to you at Avatar Aang Memorial Island,” he says, forestalling her reply, and the expression on his face softens. “But you’re not alone, Korra. You might not be able to airbend yet, but you’re not facing this danger alone.”

The words bring back the memory of something Avatar Rei had said to her, when they had met in the Spirit World. _Now be brave, young Avatar. Remember that you are not alone, that you will never be alone, and that we are all looking out for you. I know that you have the strength to face the challenges that lie ahead._

Korra gives him a small smile, feeling a little reassured, and he smiles back, holding his hand out to her. “I don’t have to be at work for some time, and your friends said that you didn’t finish your breakfast. Would you like to go  back to the kitchen and have some frozen mango yogurt?”

It reminds Korra of how the two of them used to hang out when she had been little, and Tenzin had been visiting the South Pole. They would sit on the front steps of Master Katara’s house, or at the coast, and eat snow cherry ices and talk. “Sure,” she agrees, and after gathering up the fallen stuffing and pushing it into their pockets, they head back to the house together.

-

The first thing Tarrlok notices that evening, when all of them file into the sitting room for their routine unofficial council meeting, is the fact that everybody looks exceptionally grim. Korra appears more so than the others, for obvious reasons, and it’s a struggle to keep his eyes off her and maintain a strictly professional facade. 

Tenzin is the one to break the tense silence. “You heard Amon’s address this morning?” he asks, looking at Lin and Saikhan.

“Of course. Everybody did,” Lin replies tersely. “He managed to intercept _all_ stations this time, including the police line. We don’t know how.”

Korra’s shoulders hunch, her expression darkening. Beside her, Mako shifts restlessly. “Now that Amon flat out said that he’s not interested in working with us, are we _finally_ going to do something?”

The chief and her lieutenant exchange a glance. “I think so,” Lin says slowly. “Based on everything that Asami has told us thus far, and on our own experience, the biggest danger we face from the Equalists is their weapons. Neutralizing them has to be our priority. They’re in possession of mecha-tanks, submarines, and fighter airplanes armed with machine guns and missiles, correct?”

Asami nods. “Right.”

“Personally, I don’t think that Amon is going to bring out the heavy weaponry this soon - not until the council falls.” Lin taps her pen against her paper. “Be that as it may, it would be smart for us to ensure that it won’t ever happen. If they bring out those mecha-tanks in force, it’ll be a disaster.”

“Well, we know where the main Equalist weapons base is, thanks to Asami,” Bolin replies, twiddling his thumbs nervously. “Which means we can go in and wreck all the stuff we need to, right?”

Saikhan shakes his head. “It won’t look good if the attack just happens out of the blue. Remember, the Equalists think that Asami is working as a double agent for them - you’ll have to tell them about the planned attack to maintain your credibility. I think it would be best for you to reveal the date of the attack, but say that you’re not sure whether it will take place at the main weapons factory, the one specifically for airplanes, or the factory underneath the Sato mansion.”

Asami nods, frowning. “Right. They’ll spread themselves thin trying to defend all three places.”

“Meanwhile, police forces will target the one main location. Our numbers should be enough to overwhelm the Equalist forces at the factory. The focus won’t be on apprehending the Equalists, but destroying the unmanned mecha-tanks and all other weapons we can find.” Lin looks around at all of them. “Is that clear? I’ll hold a police-only briefing for this operation tomorrow morning.”

Mako, Bolin, and Saikhan echo their agreement, and Korra waits for silence to fall, before clearing her throat. “I’m in too,” she says flatly, glaring around the table, as if daring anyone to argue. 

Tenzin pales, opening his mouth to disagree and looking to Lin and Saikhan for support, and Tarrlok’s own protest is drowned by Mako’s. “No! Korra, it’s not safe. You heard Amon this morning, he’s got some kind of personal vendetta against you–”

“I agree,” Tenzin adds quickly. “It would be best for you to stay back. You’re not a member of the police force.

Tarrlok tries to make eye contact with her, remembering how badly she had reacted the last time he had argued with her in a council meeting, but Korra just scowls, pounding her fist on the table for emphasis. "Look, I’ve been sitting around on Air Temple Island long enough! It’s time for me to _do_ something. You need benders,” she adds, narrowing her eyes at Lin and Saikhan. “I can bend three elements on my own, and do as much damage as three people." 

Lin hesitates. "I…”

“Amon said he wouldn’t work with me,” Korra says bitterly. “If he really had the best interests of the city at heart, he wouldn’t have refused. It’s time that I show him what a mistake rejecting the nonviolent approach was." 

"Korra,” Tenzin says softly, almost pleading, but she refuses to look at him.

“She’s right,” Lin replies, after a long pause. “Tenzin, don’t look at me like that. We need major firepower, to get in, do our job, and get out as fast as possible. And when it comes to sheer force, Korra is…”

“Terrifying?” Bolin suggests. 

Mako’s lips twitch. “An army?”

“Something along those lines, yes.” Lin looks at Korra, who makes no effort to hide her triumphant grin. “The briefing will be at sunrise tomorrow. Be there." 

"I will.” She doesn’t even pull a face at the early meeting time, or complain about mornings being evil.

Lin opens her folder, shuffling through the papers there, before pulling one out and spreading it over the table, smoothing it out with her hands. Korra and Tarrlok both tilt their heads, peering at it curiously. “That’s the schematic of the main weapons base that Asami dictated to one of our artists,” she explains. “Do you want to take it from here?”

“Okay,” Asami says briskly, and she points at each room in turn, elaborating as she goes. “Those are the assembly lines and manufacturing areas for the mecha-tanks and airplanes. You won’t find anything in there but the parts and the equipment used to put the machines together. If you destroy the equipment, it’ll prevent them from repairing whatever you damage in the attack, and from creating new weapons to replace what was lost. Fire and earth are the best ways to go there. These right here are the airplane storage areas - earthbenders and metalbenders can smash the completed units and take them apart. Mecha-tank storage is on this side of the factory. They’re all unmanned in storage, and I think about twenty to thirty firebenders could melt everything down.”

She stops to take a breath. “The last major area is the ammunition storeroom, in the basement of the factory. Water ruins ammunition, so that would be the best way to go.”

Lin nods, taking it in, with a faraway expression on her face. “Thirty firebenders, thirty earthbenders and metalbenders. It’s definitely manageable.” She squints down at her roster of officers. “The waterbenders are a problem. We only have eight, and they’re all on protection duty for the councilmembers.”

“Why?” Korra asks curiously. “Water does less damage than fire and earth.”

“There’s a much smaller population of waterbenders in Republic City compared to firebenders and earthbenders. The Equalists seem to be less able to defend themselves against waterbending techniques, for some reason.” Lin shrugs, looking at Saikhan doubtfully. “Should we have the squad replaced for the day?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tarrlok cuts in smoothly, enjoying the startled expressions on everybody’s faces, as they turn to stare at him. “Why compromise the safety of my former colleagues when you have a master waterbender right here?”

It takes a few moments for his words to register. Tenzin is the first to react, his face turning red. “You?” he splutters, looking at Lin and Saikhan, who appear equally nonplussed. Korra’s friends just blink at him. 

Tarrlok has to bite back the instinctive sarcastic response. “It’s not a presumptuous statement, I assure you,” he tells them, unable to conceal a note of irritation.

“But–” Saikhan cuts in, fidgeting.

“…It’s true,” Korra interrupts, staring at him thoughtfully. “He _is_ the best waterbender I’ve ever seen, besides Master Katara and Kya.”

“Thank you, Korra.” Tarrlok decides against offering to perform a demonstration. Mako and Bolin already look terrified enough. “I assure you that I am capable of doing an entire squad’s work on my own. Are there any water features in the vicinity of the factory’s basement?”

Asami blinks, taken aback by the unexpected question. “Um…I think there’s something underneath the factory,” she replies slowly. “I remember my dad telling me that it made building the transport tunnels difficult. Some of them had to be shut down after they flooded.” She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “But the floor was reinforced with cement afterward, and so are the walls. You can’t–”

“I certainly can. If I remember correctly, most of the Equalist factories have been built over the past five or six years. All I need to do is find one small crack - a single weak spot - in the ground or walls that I can force the water through." 

"I don’t think that’s possible,” Mako says, each syllable laced with enough barely-constrained aggression to make his younger brother give him a worried look.

“Oh? _Please_ inform me which waterbending master’s classes you’ve observed recently.”

Mako bristles, but before he can reply, Lin rolls her eyes. “Stop right there.”

“My mother has done it,” Tenzin says grudgingly. “It is possible.”

As hard as he tries, Tarrlok can’t read the look that passes between Lin and Saikhan - or the expression on Korra’s face. 

“Very well,” Lin says at last, everything in her demeanor screaming about how unhappy this decision makes her. “We could use a person of your…expertise.”

“It will be my pleasure.” Tarrlok allows himself a small, satisfied smile, upon noticing that nobody else appears as happy with this as he does.

As soon as the meeting ends, Korra shoots him a significant look. He can’t respond, because Bolin had noticed, but the second he looks away, distracted by Mako’s question about dinner, Tarrlok inclines his head slightly.

He walks Sitka after dinner, and then they return to his room. He distracts himself with petting the dog, smiling when she licks his hand, and shortly after the clock in the corner of the room chimes half past eight, he hears the door to his room slide open. Korra slips inside, shutting it behind her, and Tarrlok stands, raising an eyebrow in surprise - it’s earlier than they had planned, and he had expected to meet her outside, as usual.

“Mako and Asami went out for a walk,” she says, by way of explanation, kneeling to pet Sitka as she rushes toward her, wagging her tail. “And the hallway looked empty, so here I am.”

The first, instinctive reaction that wells up inside Tarrlok is disappointment at the fact that they only have an hour, at most. It embarrasses him, how much he misses her - curling up beside her at night and talking until they drift off to sleep, in one another’s arms, or just having her nearby. Many times, he had worked on lesson plans while she had read, and every so often, when he touched her hand, Korra would curl her fingers around his and give them an affectionate squeeze. It would have been nice if they had a couple of hours, enough time for him to draw her over to the bed and have her settle against him, before kissing her hair, forehead, nose, lips–

Korra’s face holds none of that longing. She frowns, obviously preoccupied with other things, as she shifts from foot to foot restlessly. “Why did you volunteer?” she blurts. “When we were back in the Earth Kingdom, you made it sound like you had given up on fighting.”

“I had, at the time.” Korra’s glower makes it clear that she isn’t satisfied with the answer, and Tarrlok sighs, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. “I want to do something - _anything_ \- to regain my honor and former status,” he snaps, and the vehemence in his voice takes him by surprise. “What better way to do that than by proving my loyalty to Republic City? I can’t spend the rest of my years here living in shame, like I have been for the past few weeks! It’s driving me insane." 

"You should understand how I feel,” he adds, after a moment. “Your desire to prove yourself motivated you to volunteer for this operation as well, even though - no, _because_ \- you’re just as afraid that you’ll face Amon there as Tenzin is.”

For a second, Korra looks like she’s going to explode. Then she sighs, deflating. “You’re right,” she mutters, staring down at the floor. She laughs, then, but it’s not a happy sound. “You know me better than anyone else.”

He can’t help but reach out and brush his fingers against her cheek, and Korra glances up at him, the expression in her eyes unreadable. “I did it as much for you as I did for me,” Tarrlok admits softly, willing himself not to stumble over the words. “I - I know that it’s not truly possible, but when all of this is over, all I want is to…go back to the beginning. To when we first met, and start over.”

Korra steps away from his touch, and he feels her breath hitch. “Tarrlok, we–”

“I know that I can’t undo everything that I did. But - if you would allow me - I would like to start courting you, like I should have done.” He takes her reluctant hand and presses it between both of his own, willing her to squeeze back and smile up at him. “We can walk around Yue Bay, and I can take you on a scenic drive by the coastline, and we can go out to dinner. You deserve the best.” _Not the pain, fear, sorrow, hurt, and anger that has marked our relationship so far, from the moment that I looked you right in the eye and insulted you in the most cutting way that I could think of - and then smiled, as your face fell and your voice wavered._

The words hang heavily in the air between them, and Korra’s eyes fill up with tears. The sight makes Tarrlok’s chest tighten, and he squeezes her hand reassuringly, his voice soft and persuasive. “We can have the normal relationship that we haven’t had the chance to, yet. If I reestablish my reputation to an extent, before then, the others won’t be as resistant to the idea. You won’t have to be ashamed to be seen with me any longer, don’t you see that?”

He hadn’t meant for the last part to slip out. When Korra blinks, the tears spill over, and she wipes at them hastily. “I’m not _ashamed,_ ” she starts, her voice breaking on the last syllable, and then she stops, because both of them can see the lie for what it is. She takes a few deep breaths, her shoulders trembling, and finally, she curls her fingers around his. “I’ll always care about you,” she says forcefully, looking up at him. “No matter what.”

Tarrlok watches her, more worried than he cares to let on, and it takes an effort to make himself smile; make his voice come out as smooth as always. “Think about it.”

“I will.” Korra stands on the tips of her toes, kissing him on the cheek, and before he can do anything more, she leaves the room, as quickly as she had come.

-

The planned attack on the factory takes place two days after their initial small council meeting. Tarrlok rises with the sun with no difficulty, every muscle in his body drawn tight with anticipation and adrenaline. By this time tomorrow, everybody is going to think of him in a different light entirely. He will acquit himself well enough today to be considered a valuable part of the war effort, and not just a criminal who happens to be under house arrest at the effective headquarters of the anti-revolutionary forces. 

He dresses quickly, in dark, loose Water Tribe-style pants and a dark blue Northern Water Tribe anorak, and combs his hair, tying it in a single ponytail. Sitka sniffs around his boots anxiously, making it difficult for him to pull them on. She remains tense even after he tries to soothe her, and she hovers close by, whining. 

“You can’t come,” Tarrlok tells her gently, scratching her behind the ear. Ever since he and Korra had adopted her, aside from basic dog training, he’s been working on teaching Sitka relevant defensive and attack skills. He had thought it would be useful, if somehow the Equalists tracked the two of them down and attacked. The dog is smart and competent, but this is beyond her capabilities. “It’s too dangerous. Stay here with Naga.”

Sitka walks him out to the waiting police submarine. Korra, Bolin, and Mako are all inside already, and Naga sits on the sand, peering into the submarine sadly. The last thing Tarrlok sees before the hatch closes is both dogs side-by-side, identical looks of worry in their dark eyes.

The hour that it takes to get to the factory, by submarine and by police truck, passes in a blur. It reminds him of his time heading the task force, and Tarrlok’s lips quirk up in a smirk of anticipation. 

Once they arrive at the factory, located on the outskirts of Republic City, everything happens very quickly, just as planned. Everybody receives a last-minute reminder of where exactly their assignments are. The guards are neutralized. The doors are smashed in. In the instant before all of the officers flood through, Tarrlok looks at Korra, and she looks at him. 

Then Saikhan yells his command, and she’s gone. Her ponytails stream behind her as she forces her way through a crowd of Equalists, pushing them aside with ease, and dashing in the direction of the mecha-tank storage hall. 

Inside, it’s chaos. Somebody had cut the power, most likely in an attempt to confuse intruders unfamiliar with the building’s layout. An alarm screams, flashing red light,. The air trembles with the sound, and the screaming, yelling, the roar of fire, the hiss of metalbending cables, and the sound of boulders slamming against metal. Through some stroke of luck, in the confusion; the desperate rush to protect the mecha-tank and airplane storage halls, nobody seems to see him as he makes his way toward the hidden staircase at the end of the third hallway to the left.

The staircase is narrow and it feels endless, and the gloom it leads Tarrlok into is even more profound than the one upstairs. He narrows his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the darkness, and when they do, he smiles.

This is most definitely the ammunition storage area. It’s as large as the lower level of the pro-bending stadium, and every inch of the walls are lined with towering shelves, overflowing with enough ammunition to power the Fire Nation’s Royal Navy for a year. 

To his right, there’s a tunnel that looks to be empty. If he remembers correctly, it’s the one leading to the transport area. This factory is linked to the others, as well as Equalist headquarters, through an elaborate tunnel system. It’s unlikely that any more ammunition or weaponry would be there, but it’s worth investigating after he deals with this.

Tarrlok steps into the middle of the room, his tread echoing in the vast, cavernous space. He closes his eyes, focusing harder than he has in a long time; enough to make a muscle underneath his eye twitch at the strain.

The search takes a little more than a minute. Tarrlok opens his eyes, exhaling slowly. Asami had been right. There _is_ a water source available; a river, from one of the nearby cave systems. He knows what he has to do. It will be difficult, but for somebody who can bloodbend psychically at a range of over two miles - as he had done to Korra, the last time she had tried to escape - it is certainly possible. 

Every muscle in Tarrlok’s body tightens, as he closes his eyes and bows his head, his fingers quivering. He doesn’t have much time. The last thing he needs is for some Equalist to realize that their ammunition stores are compromised and come charging in here after him. He sinks into a waterbending stance and pulls, feeling the water respond to his command. The strain becomes unbearable after only a short amount of time; his head pounds, his muscles ache, and he can feel a nosebleed coming on. 

But the water comes, coursing through the earth and gathering speed as it goes, at his urging. It travels straight toward him. Or, more accurately, straight toward the weak spot in the foundation, at the far left corner of the room. 

Tarrlok moves his hands upward, in one sharp, sweeping motion, praying to the spirits that it will be enough–

And it is. The torrent breaks through the foundation, gushing into the air and splashing onto the floor, and he laughs, short and sharp and vindicated. It’s as strong as he had hoped. He guides it with his hands, sending massive waves of water sweeping over the shelves with effortless grace. And by the time his source of water trickles to a thin stream, exhausted, every single cache of ammunition in the room is dripping, destroyed, and absolutely useless. 

The sight fills Tarrlok with vicious pleasure, and he laughs once more, stepping forward and hearing his boots splash against the flooded floor, as he admires his work. He can’t even imagine how many yuans the Equalists must have wasted on this collection. Years of hoarding, gone within a matter of moments. This is almost more satisfying than rounding up Equalists and Equalist trainees. Almost. 

Now that he’s proved himself so thoroughly, Beifong should allow him to accompany the police on their next raid - a raid targeting Equalists instead of just their weapons, hopefully. Perhaps, in time, he’ll even be allowed to re-form his waterbending task force.

Tarrlok turns, making his way back to the staircase. He’s one step away from it when he freezes, his shoulders tensing up. 

He hears the sound of footsteps, boots splashing through the water. And they’re not his own.

His eyes sweep the shadows, and he feels his chest constrict with sudden realization as he stares at the tunnel to the right of the staircase. The tunnel that connects this weapons factory to the rest of the Equalist factories, and their headquarters. _We do expect reinforcements to arrive, in time,_ Chief Beifong had told them, at the briefing yesterday. _We should get out before they come in._

Fifteen figures emerge from the gloom, their eerie green goggles glowing in the dark, as they advance on him. But the only one Tarrlok can focus on, the only one he really _sees,_ is the one in front.

The one wearing the red-and-white porcelain mask.

For one surreal moment, the world seems to slow to a crawl - the motion of the Equalists, and his thoughts with it. And then everything speeds up again. The Equalists are here, within feet of him, and Amon, and–

The rest of the police force is upstairs. 

Korra is upstairs.

And he’s the only thing standing between them and the staircase.

There is no fear. Tarrlok’s eyes narrow in distaste as he looks them up and down. “Idiots,” he says curtly. “You’re surrounded by my natural element, and you dare challenge me?”

He moves before they can even react, turning the ground beneath them to slick ice with one rapid movement of his hands. They falter and slip, some clutching at each other for support, and Tarrlok moves one hand dismissively, forcing the ice upward, until each of them are locked in prisons that encase them from toes to chin. He ignores their pained gasps for breath, frowning as he stares at Amon. 

He alone hadn’t fallen; hadn’t so much as slipped, though his boots look the same as the others. He stands still, utterly unaffected and looking right at him, and the strange, sinister blankness of the mask sends a shiver down Tarrlok’s spine. Amon takes a step forward, deliberate and sure-footed on the ice, and Tarrlok is unprepared for the wave of pure loathing that washes over him. 

He isn’t a seventeen-year-old girl, to be terrorized and intimidated and threatened. 

_He said he would destroy me._

_I promise you, I’ll kill him before he ever lays a hand on you._

The images flash, brief and disjointed, in his mind. Korra’s shudders of fear, the shadows in her eyes. The benders of Republic City, living in fear of being the next targets of Amon’s terrorist movement. The look of relief and gratitude in Korra’s eyes, when he flings Amon’s unconscious body on the floor in front of her and unmasks him, as Chief Beifong puts the Equalist leader in chains. The cheering of appreciative citizens. The rewards for being the one to defeat the infamous Equalist leaders will be great - his former position on the council will be reinstated, at the very least. He can just imagine Korra hugging him tight, closing her eyes, before pulling him down to her for a passionate kiss. _Thank you. Thank you so much._

The words whisper in his mind once more. _I was to be the city’s savior._

“Step aside,” Amon says. His voice is low, and not quite as menacing in person as it is on the radio. 

He’s just a man. Just a non-bending farm boy, and Tarrlok feels a twisted smirk drag at the corner of his lips. “You fool,” he replies. “Don’t you remember who I am? You’ve never faced bending like mine.”

It’s been months since he last used bloodbending, but it comes easily. He attacks with enough force to drive any human to their knees, knocking them into relatively painless unconsciousness. Amon stops mid-stride, his body trembling. He’s trying to _fight_ it - how naive - and Tarrlok scowls, his fingers twitching sharply, as he applies more pressure.

He should fall. He _should._ He should be unconscious on the floor by now, but he’s still standing, still shaking, and–

Then, abruptly, Amon stops trembling. He puts one foot in front of the other and continues walking toward him, implacably, relentlessly, as if exerting no effort whatsoever.

The horror at having his bloodbending overwhelmed is violent and visceral, and Tarrlok doesn’t realize that he’s staggered back in shock, his hands collapsing limply to his sides, until his back collides with the staircase railing. “What?” he asks hoarsely, unable to process it, unable to comprehend it. Even Korra had never been able to break free of his grip, and she is the _Avatar,_ the most powerful bender on the face of the earth. A memory of one of Amon’s speeches floats back to him. _I was chosen by the spirits._ Tarrlok had scoffed at it, but– 

“What _are_ you?" 

His voice is unbecomingly frightened, and Amon is close, now, close enough to touch. "I am the solution.”

His hand is a vice-like grip on Tarrlok’s arm, solid and real, and before he can react, before he can do or think _anything,_ Amon twists him around until he’s standing behind him. His unprotected back is to the enemy, and his terror is absolute. Amon’s finger jabs into the chi point at the base of his neck, and the pain is enough to make his knees give out underneath him. One of Amon’s hands clamps around his shoulder, squeezing it, holding him still. 

He hadn’t been at the pro-bending arena on the night of the championships, but Korra had - Korra had told him how–

Tarrlok sees the mask, staring down at him blankly, and then Amon’s thumb comes to rest on his forehead.

The _no,_ the protest, the plea, freezes in his throat. _It wasn’t supposed to be like this, no!_ There’s a pain in his head unlike anything he’s ever felt before. A severing, and then an emptiness. Tarrlok knows, flatly, instinctively, without having to lift a finger, that his bending is gone, and…and…

He had wondered how Amon took bending. So had Korra. It seemed different from the way Avatar Aang had removed it.

He has his answer now.

The realization of that, and the automatic, instinctive denial of the _other_ \- no, no, no, it’s not possible, his hold on sanity had slipped after the horror of losing his bending - makes Tarrlok’s world close in on itself.

Everything goes black.

-

_to be continued_


	15. Part Fifteen

Korra draws her fist back, breathing in. When she lashes out again, the torrent of flame that emanates from her fist makes the bright red steel arm of the mecha-tank glow as dark as blood.

She keeps the stream of fire going until the steel begins to melt, softening and losing shape. Underneath her armored vest, her chest and back are damp with sweat. There are five other firebenders in here with her, all targeting different areas of the weapon, and the sweltering heat of their flames is starting to get to her. She’s lost count of the minutes that they’ve been in here, but this is the last machine that her team has to destroy. They had shut and locked the doors behind them, to keep the Equalists from protecting their precious weapons. Added security, sure, but it feels like an inferno in here. The officer next to her looks like he’s about to faint.

They only stop after the mecha-tank is reduced to a charred, unrecognizable, and unsalvageable heap. Korra breathes a sigh of relief, mopping her damp brow with her arm.

“We’ve done everything we can here,” their captain says, moving toward the door. “It’s time for us to leave. Chief Beifong was very clear about us getting out before the reinforcements from the other base arrive.”

They throw the doors open and rush out into the hallway, none of them bothering to detain any of the Equalists pushing past them, struggling to defend their weapons. The warehouse is in such a state of havoc that just looking around almost makes her dizzy. In an attempt to combat the fires, the Equalists had turned on some kind of water spray system - torrents of water gush from the ceiling, along with weird thick, heavy, foamy white stuff. It gets on Korra’s face and hands as she runs, and it doesn’t feel anything like snow.

On top of everything else, the lights are out, but this horrible alarm is blaring ear-splitting noise, intermittent flashes of red light cutting through the darkness. It’s so disorienting that she doesn’t even recognize Mako and Bolin in the crowd until they’re right next to her. Korra grabs Mako by the arm, gesturing toward the ceiling. “Do they have enough water to put out the fires?”

Mako makes a face, grimacing at the shrieking of the alarm. “What?”

“I said, do they have enough water? We don’t want anyone to get burned!”

Comprehension dawns on his face, but he has to yell to to make himself heard. “Yeah, they do! We checked it with Asami earlier.”

A chain of Equalists move in front of the entrance to the warehouse, trying to cut them off and keep them from getting out. Bolin bowls right through them, grabbing one by the waist and pushing him into his companions, and Mako and Korra run through the gap, slamming through the doors.

The world outside is blissfully different, and Korra breathes deeply, chasing the scent of smoke and burning steel out of her nose. No Equalists pursue them; they’re probably all too busy extinguishing the fires. The police officers ahead of her jump into the armored cars they had arrived in, and the tense-looking Beifong and Saikhan count them off as they do, Saikhan looking over a list clutched tightly in his hand. “Korra, Mako, Bolin,” he says quickly, wiping sweat from his brow. “That’s the last of you. We don’t want to lose anyone to interrogation–”

Lin frowns, looking them over. “Where’s Tarrlok?” she asks abruptly. “I thought he had found you, Korra.”

Korra’s shoulders stiffen, and she hops out of the car. “Why? Is he not out here yet?” _Stupid Tarrlok,_ is her first thought. _Probably off trying to play hero, and do the whole “I will be the city’s savior” thing again._

The police chief shakes her head. “No, he hasn’t reported back yet.” Her frown grows more pronounced. “His orders were to destroy the ammunition in the basement and then come straight out.”

“No,” Korra says slowly. “I don’t know where he is, I haven’t seen him…" 

 _The basement._ The words echo in her head, and finally, she remembers. _The transport tunnels linking this warehouse to the other Equalist facilities are all located in the basement,_ Asami had told them, pointing at the diagram. _Reinforcements should come in through here._

Korra freezes. Some small voice inside her is telling her that there’s nothing to be worried about, that she’s just being paranoid, and even if Equalists _did_ show up, Tarrlok could handle himself and will be out here in a second–

But some other instinct overrides that. "I’m going back in,” she tells Lin, turning toward the warehouse.

She hears Lin yell something at her, probably an order not to reenter, not to do anything rash, but she runs anyway, vaguely conscious of Mako and Bolin following closely behind her. Inside the factory, it’s still dark and pouring water and foam from the ceiling, but thankfully, the alarm is off, and the Equalists who had been in front of the door are gone. Everybody seems to be somewhere else right now, checking to see what kind of damage had been done, and there’s nobody to see them charging toward the door leading to the basement.

Korra descends the narrow staircase quickly, nearly tripping in her haste. “Careful!” Bolin exclaims, in a hushed whisper, and Mako brings a flame to his palm, giving them some light in the darkness. 

They come to a sudden stop at the base of the stairs, crashing into one another. Korra looks around in confusion, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees her friends doing the same. They had _splashed_ onto the end of the staircase. They’re standing in several inches of cool, stagnant water; the basement is flooded, and the dark room echoes with the sound of dripping. Korra ignites a flame in her hand as well, illuminating the sodden masses of ammunition on the shelves.

Mako’s eyes widen, and Bolin whistles quietly. “ _Wow._ " 

Tarrlok had done his job. But where is he?

"I don’t see him anywhere,” she says, and she refuses to let her voice betray any of the growing fear inside her. 

“Let’s check the transport tunnels,” Mako says grimly. “Just in case.”

“I’ll take that one,” Bolin offers, moving toward the one on the right. 

They tell him to be careful, and he turns back, giving them a thumbs-up, before disappearing into the darkness. 

“We’ll take that one.” Korra leads the way into the second tunnel. She can still hear her heart pounding, even as she splashes through the water. The dancing light of Mako’s fire casts eerie shadows on the walls, but he stops, a few minutes in, extinguishing the light.

She turns to him questioningly, opening her mouth to speak, but he lifts a finger to his lips, before pointing down the tunnel. _Listen,_ he mouths.

It takes several moments for her to pick up on it. Footsteps, up ahead - two, maybe three people, trying their best to move through the ankle-deep water as quietly as possible.

“Should we run?” Mako whispers.

“No,” Korra replies quietly, narrowing her eyes. “I have a better idea.”

With one swift, sweeping motion, she freezes the water underneath their feet. The ice races down the tunnel, quick as lightning, and it isn’t long before the echoing cries of dismay reach them. She offers an arm to Mako, who tests the slick ice with a tentative foot. “Hop on.”

He takes her arm, and a little waterbending trick her mom had once taught her sends them gliding over the ice at breakneck speed. They go past long straight stretches and a few curves before the three trapped Equalists come into view, futilely struggling to break free of the ice.

Even with the masks and goggles on, Korra can tell that their expressions change when she and Mako skid to a stop in front of them, Mako igniting another flame in his hand.

She doesn’t waste any time. There’s no time for subtlety and politeness now. “Where is Councilman Tarrlok?” she demands, pointing back toward the direction of the basement. 

The three of them exchange glances, and remain stubbornly silent, as if they hadn’t even understood what she was trying to say. Korra snarls in frustration, clenching her hand into a fist, and the ice that had trapped them by the ankles shoots upward, encasing them from feet to shoulders. As she tightens her fist, the ice’s grip grows more vicelike, until one of the Equalists gives a soft grunt of pain. “I _said,_ ” she begins again, making every effort to repress the fear surging inside of her - “Where’s Councilman Tarrlok?”

She’s vaguely aware of Mako giving her a worried look, laying a hand of restraint on her shoulder. She shakes him off. He doesn’t get it; he doesn’t understand. Tarrlok had promised to always look out for her, and she has to return the favor for him.

Losing patience, Korra tightens the ice again, and one of the Equalists scoffs, harsh and bitter, as the breath is driven out of his body. “ _Councilman_ Tarrlok,” he spits, voice heavy with derision. He doesn’t look or sound any older than Tahno. “Corrupt piece of slime–”

“Shut up!” she yells, before she can stop herself.

The Equalist sneers. “The noble ex-councilman tried to bloodbend Amon. What a fool.”

She hears Mako’s quick intake of breath, and Korra stares, stunned. No way. But…if Tarrlok had bloodbended Amon, there was no way Amon could have come out of that okay. “What do you mean, _tried_ to bloodbend Amon?” she asks coldly, her mind racing. 

“Amon did something you couldn’t, you see,” the Equalists taunts, and it takes an effort for her to keep herself from punching him in the face. “He overcame Tarrlok’s bloodbending - brushed it off like it was nothing. And then he took his bending.”

“Serves him right,” one of the other Equalists adds scornfully. “After everything. Should have happened a long time ago.”

The words don’t even register. Nothing after _and then he took his bending._

“What?” she asks hoarsely. Mako’s hand is steadying on her shoulder, but her stomach turns, and suddenly, everything about this dark tunnel feels so surreal, like she had just walked into a nightmare. “No. You’re wrong. Tarrlok is a _bloodbender._ There’s no way Amon could take his bending, Tarrlok would rip his organs open before he could even try.”

“I know what I saw,” the Equalist says cuttingly. “The bloodbender lost his bending just like everyone else has. He had trapped us in ice, and the second Amon took his bending and he blacked out, the ice melted to water.”

Her mind seems to have slowed down to a snail’s speed. Nothing makes sense anymore. How can this be? Korra sees her ashen expression reflected in the Equalist’s green goggles, and behind the mask, his lips twist in a smirk, as he looks her up and down. To her surprise, he laughs, short and unpleasant. “Look, she’s _upset_ about it,” he says scathingly. “You should be happy his bending is gone, after everything he did to you!”

Her lips won’t move right, won’t form the words that she needs them to. “Shut up,” Mako snaps. He looks at her, visibly worried. “Korra–”

“Look at her, I think she’s going to cry. Some Avatar you are,” the Equalist says, withering condemnation in his voice. “You’re so messed up that there isn’t even a name for what’s wrong with you.”

She hears herself snarl in anger again, she sees her fist lash out, colliding with his face, snapping his nose. Mako is saying something that she can’t hear, doesn’t want to hear, and Korra storms toward the other Equalist, ignoring the first one’s cries of pain and the hot blood splattering down onto the ice. She grabs him by the collar, pulling him so close that she can see through the goggles, into his frightened eyes. “Where is Tarrlok? Where did Amon take him?”

“I don’t know!” he splutters, trying to jerk backward. This one doesn’t look old either, just about her age.

“Don’t lie to me!” She tightens the ice again, desperate to get some answers, but he spits at her instead, and she jerks out of the way just in time to keep it from getting on her face. 

“You’re a cruel bitch!” he yells, trying and failing to get to his bleeding teammate. “Amon was right about you!”

Korra lunges at him, but Mako grabs her fist right before it can make contact with his face. “What are you doing?” She tries to twist out of his grasp, but he just holds on tighter. “Let me go!”

“No, I won’t,” he says firmly. “Korra, come on. This isn’t you. We have to get out of here now.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I find out where Amon took Tarrlok! They know! They’re Equalists, they _have_ to know!”

“They’re our age, they’re probably just grunts. They don’t know anything. Come on. Let’s get out of here and tell Chief Beifong and Saikhan what happened. It’s going to be okay.”

He’s trying to be soothing, and all it does is make it worse. “No,” Korra protests, and she feels her throat closing over. “No. I’ll make them tell me something. I will.”

Mako puts his arm around her waist, making her turn away. “Make the ice go away,” he says softly. “Please. We need to get back, and they need to get out of here too. That guy’s going to be in serious danger if he bleeds too much, and you know that. I know you don’t want him to be really hurt.”

“No.”

“Korra,” he says again. “Please.”

She looks into those golden eyes, and something inside of her relents. The ice melts, splashing into water and freeing the Equalists, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Mako take some kind of cloth out of his pocket and throw it at the Equalist whose nose she had broken. 

The trip out of the tunnel is a blur. Mako starts calling Bolin’s name as soon as they reach the mouth, and they find him standing outside of the other tunnel, looking anxious. His face goes pale when he sees them. “Bad news?” he asks weakly. “Korra, are you okay?”

She can’t say anything.

“Amon kidnapped Tarrlok and took his bending,” Mako says tersely. 

“Oh, no.” Bolin’s brow furrows in confusion. “But…how?”

“We’ll tell you later. We need to get out of here now.”

The staircase feels impossibly long, and putting one foot in front of the other and dragging herself up is harder than it should be. Korra doesn’t even realize that they’re back outside until Lin and Saikhan are right in front of her face, asking her what’s wrong, and where’s Tarrlok?

“Amon took him,” Korra says flatly, fighting the nausea that washes over her. “And his bending.”

Saikhan’s jaw drops, and Lin blinks, like someone had hit her. They look as horrified as she feels, and Lin actually reaches out, trying to comfort her. “Korra…" 

She barely feels her hand on her shoulder. Her world is spinning and unsteady, and the feeling of nausea grows worse by the second. Black spots creep into her vision, and she closes her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek to stifle a sob.

When Korra opens her eyes again, something is wrong. The air around her had been still, but now it’s moving, wind whipping around them at terrifying speeds. Lin’s hair is swept into disarray and Bolin staggers backward, losing his balance. 

The realization hits her a few moments later than it does everybody else. It’s airbending. She’s airbending.

–Except that she can’t airbend, she’s never been able to, and this isn’t something she’s doing on purpose.

The shocked expressions on her friends’ faces are the last thing Korra sees, before everything goes dark. 

-

The first thing Tarrlok registers upon regaining consciousness is the splitting pain in his head. It keeps him from opening his eyes fully, the first two times he tries. He manages, the third time.

He’s curled up on his futon at home. The hunting trip last night had been terrible. His nose had started bleeding after making the first wolf stay still, but Father had insisted that he take the next step, and make the wolf move. Sit, stand, chase his tail, bite his own paw. He had almost fainted, at the end of it, but Noatak had helped him walk home, and led him to his room.

No. 

This room is dark and windowless, like that one, but this is a cell. Stone, instead of ice. Metal bars to his left. No door.

The sound that escapes his throat, as he pushes himself into a sitting position, is the closest to a whimper that he has come in the past twenty years. The disorientation is passing, and it’s all coming back now - Amon overcoming his bloodbending, like it was nothing. Overpowering him as easily as an adult against a helpless child. _I am the solution._ Fingers digging into his arm, forcing him to his knees, the mask looming over him in the dark, the thumb resting against his forehead, the grip holding him still–

_Amon._

Tarrlok buries his face in his hands, and even that doesn’t stifle the moan of distress. 

He’s going insane. The loss of his bending had driven him insane.

It takes several minutes for him to summon the resolve to stand. He’s unsteady on his feet, his muscles stiff and sore, but the first thing he does is search the cell. It’s empty - no cot, blankets, or pillow. He had been huddled against the wall for spirits knows how long. 

Tarrlok finds an attached bathroom - _thank goodness,_ he thinks, and then has to laugh, the sound coming out strange and broken. It’s not much. There’s a toilet, tiny shower stall (no soap), and a rusted metal sink. He staggers over to the sink first, without even thinking about it, and wrenches the tap open. There’s a short delay before the water comes, spurting out erratically, splashing everywhere.

He tries to bend it. To freeze it, and when that doesn’t work, something simpler - just  making it move, like he had been able to do as a child.

It doesn’t respond to him. Nothing happens. The water feels him, and he feels the water, and it’s _nothing._ It’s just wet on his skin, and it feels sickeningly dead. He fumbles with the tap, desperate to make it stop. It _hurts._ It’s nothing, and it hurts.

The tears start then, despite Tarrlok’s best efforts to hold them back, and they don’t stop. He bends over the sink, but the water gets on his sleeves, and he staggers backward, trying to get away from it.

Tarrlok ends up on the bathroom floor, back pressed against the wall. The sink is in front of him, taunting, and he buries his head in his hands again, forcing it out. 

Even the tears on his face feel different. His entire _body_ feels different - his blood, nerves, organs. It’s not a feeling as much as it is the lack of it. For as long as he can remember, he’s been a waterbender. It’s all that he’s ever known, and in its place, there’s emptiness.

He cries until there are no tears left, and his body aches from the force of it. Afterward, Tarrlok wipes his face with his sleeve, composing himself, and stares at the wall dully. 

Noatak had been with him, when he had waterbended for the first time. The two of them had been playing on the coast. His head droops, and he closes his eyes, feeling sick. It can’t be. But he remembers Noatak’s bloodbending grip - he had never forgotten - and that was exactly what he had recognized in Amon. 

But… Tarrlok blinks, unable to keep himself from flashing back to that night; to the sight of Noatak walking away, into the snowstorm, ignoring his pleas. How had he survived? How had he come to Republic City? When?

The realization hits him again, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. If he’s right, and Amon is Noatak, that means…for all these years, _twenty-four long years_ , Noatak had been _alive._ Living, breathing, walking, reading the newspapers. And he hadn’t done _anything_ to contact him. Not once, in all those years. More than two decades. Not even just to try and see if he had survived Yakone’s abuse.

Tarrlok rubs his temples exhaustedly, fighting back the uncharacteristic scream rising inside him. He can’t go down that road now. What’s more inexplicable is reconciling the Noatak he had once known with this ridiculous, unreasonable _Amon_ persona. After all this time, he can recite Amon’s vision for "true equality” word by word: Rid the world of the evil of bending. It was a plausible (if irrational) motive for a non-bender whose family had been killed by a rogue firebender. But for a born waterbender…

The answer comes more easily than he had expected, and the memory takes him back years, to the arctic tundra. Yakone had been walking ahead of them, muscles taut with anticipation at seeing how their skills had progressed. It was about a year before Noatak had disappeared. He and Noatak followed in silence, while he tried to fight back tears of fright and anxiety. Noatak had tried his best to distract him, pointing out interesting cloud formations, but had finally given up. _If both of us had been born non-benders, he wouldn’t have any way to do this to us,_ he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets sullenly, his eyes burning with resentment. _It would have been better that way._

Tarrlok had thought so as well, so many times. He had lost count of the times that he had looked up at the moon and wished he was a non-bender. He glances down at his hands now, and he has to laugh, strangled and bitter, at the irony.

He stands with difficulty, making his way back to the cell. For the first time, he notices the small carton left near one of the bars. It’s white and oily, obviously some kind of food. Instead of reaching for it, Tarrlok rattles the bars, trying to pull them apart, to see if there’s any way he can twist through them–

It’s no use. They’re solid iron, placed close together. Not even Korra could wrench them apart. 

The thought of her makes his chest clench up in despair, and Tarrlok sinks to the floor, reaching for the carton. Maybe food will do something to ease the gnawing numbness and emptiness inside him. The takeout carton is stamped with Narook’s insignia, and when he opens it, he finds it stuffed to the brim with seaweed noodles and fire-shrimp. It had been one of his favorite dishes as a child, and the food he ordered most regularly from the small eatery - once a week, at least.

Tarrlok stares at the food until his vision starts to blur, and then he drops the chopsticks, feeling a shudder run through him. The whole time, Noatak was Amon and Amon was Noatak. They had been living in the same city - perhaps within twenty or thirty miles of one another - for at least five or six years, maybe more. They had walked the same streets. Visited the same restaurants. 

While he had read about Noatak in the newspaper, Noatak had been reading about _him._ Keeping tabs on him. Maybe Noatak had walked past his house, near Yue Bay, without his mask on. Noatak had spearheaded the revolution that he had been fighting against for the past five years. He had formed a task force dedicated to hunting his own brother down.

And all along, Noatak had been the one tormenting Korra. Threatening her and her family and friends, filling her with more fear than she would ever admit to.

He’s torn between laughing at the irony, again, and crying. It’s the tears that come out, and Tarrlok huddles into himself, helpless to stop them. Noatak could have said something, _anything,_ years ago. Why hadn’t he? It would have never had to escalate to this. 

After the tears finally stop, he forces himself to eat, mechanically chewing the cold food. For the first time, it brings him no joy. Tarrlok sets it aside halfway through, and gets up, pacing from one end of the cell to the other. He tries the bars again, and then runs his hands over the walls, searching for something, anything, that could help him escape.

All it does is confirm what he had already guessed. There is nothing, no way out. For the first time in his adult life, he is well and truly powerless. 

And a prisoner. In the beginning, for _months,_ he had thought so little of forcing Korra to come with him when he fled Republic City, as his hostage. She had yelled and screamed and railed at him in rage and frustration and despair, and he hadn’t batted an eyelid.

Tarrlok buries his head in his hands. _How the roles reverse,_ he thinks to himself wearily. It had been his desire for power and control and prestige that had drove him to attack Korra in City Hall, triggering this chain of events. And it had been his desire to regain his lost status that had drove him to bloodbend Amon - Noatak - and, in doing so, ensuring the loss of his own bending. _The spirits have their own way of getting even. Of doling out punishment._

There is a slow creak from the other side of the room, and Tarrlok sits up straight, startled. It’s difficult to see in this dark, but finally, his eyes focus. 

Amon - Noatak - steps inside, closing the door behind them. He holds a lantern in a gloved hand, and the yellow light throws odd shadows around the room. For a few long moments, there is silence.

“Have you eaten?”

The inquiry is impassive, and Tarrlok tries to search for a resemblance in voice - in this one, compared to the one he hasn’t heard in so many years. There’s nothing of Yakone in this voice.

Tarrlok inclines his head warily, and even though he knows that he’s being foolish, the seeds of doubt are planted again. What if it isn’t Noatak after all? Korra had once described Amon as having yellow eyes. He can’t put a name to the feelings that sweep over him at the thought. He would rather Noatak be dead than be _this–_

 _…Would you, Tarrlok?_ a small voice asks him. _Would you really?_

Finally, Amon steps forward, making his way toward him, and as hard as Tarrlok tries to remain still, he cringes. 

But Amon just sits down in front of him, out of arm’s reach, setting the lantern beside him. Without saying a word, he reaches up, tugging his dark hood down, and then removes the mask. He doesn’t give any indication of hearing Tarrlok’s sharp intake of breath, as he looks up, allowing him to see his face. 

There are no scars - proof that this Amon isn’t what he told his followers he was. But there is no resemblance to the old Noatak, either. The skin is all wrong. It’s several shades lighter than his own - it could be the skin of a Fire Nation citizen. Even the _features_ don’t look Water Tribe. His eyes aren’t Noatak’s bright blue, but a dull blue-gray, and the confusion growing inside him is enough to make Tarrlok feel sick. 

“Who are you?” he asks hoarsely. “You’re not my–you’re not…”

The man blinks once, before glancing down at the floor. “Your stuffed wolf had a purple collar,” he says, at last. “Made from the trim of one of our mother’s dresses. She wore purple often, to match the stone on her betrothal necklace.”

The words hit Tarrlok like a slap to the face, worse than the most violent blow Korra had delivered in a fit of anger. It drives the breath from his body, and he can’t breathe in again. There’s no room for air inside him right now. All there is is defeat, and a crushing, impossible despair worse than he has felt in years.

Noatak is watching him - waiting - but he turns away. For the first time in a long time, he has nothing to say, he _can’t_ say anything, even though there are a hundred things tangling inside him, desperate to be let out.

“I’m sorry,” Noatak says finally, carefully, in a soft tone that’s so different from Amon’s confident, flawless oration. “I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. I - part of me was relieved when I came to the cabin in the mountains and found that you and the Avatar were already gone.”

He stops, and when Tarrlok remains silent, he sighs. “You should have stayed in the Earth Kingdom with the Avatar,” he says flatly. “I never planned to pursue the two of you - I trusted that you would keep the Avatar out of my way, and that way, I wouldn’t have to hurt you.”

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” Tarrlok explodes, even though that had been the last thing he had planned on saying. There’s too much emotion in his voice - unadulterated anger and hurt, childish in its intensity - and he hates it. “If you really didn’t want to hurt me, then you wouldn’t have left!”

There’s a flicker of some unreadable emotion in Noatak’s eyes. “I couldn’t stand it anymore,” he replies steadily. “I wasn’t like you, so weak that I could just take all the abuse thrown at me, without fighting back. But I offered to take you with me. I offered you a way out.”

“I couldn’t just go and leave Mother with him! Did you even think about what it would do to her, to find out that both of us were gone?”

A spasm of anger passes over Noatak’s unrecognizable features. “She didn’t care enough about us to protect us from him, and you–”

“She didn’t know! You can’t blame her, she _didn’t know_!” It’s louder than Tarrlok has yelled in a long time, and Noatak looks back toward the door, worried, but he doesn’t care. Noatak doesn’t know how much their mother had mourned him, how she had never recovered from the loss, how she had sunk into a depression that had ultimately killed her, how losing Noatak had made Yakone worse than he had ever been, to their mother and to him–

No, Noatak had just walked away, and left him and their mother to deal with everything that had happened after, the horrible downward spiral into the worst violence he had ever seen. And here he is, now, judging him, and judging their mother–

If he could reach Noatak through the bars, he would choke him. But he’s out of arm’s reach, and so Tarrlok’s hands close on the only thing he _can_ reach - the almost-empty carton of noodles, with a few noodles and pieces of shrimp left behind, and the cold, oily soup congealing at the bottom. He throws it at Noatak, at the face that doesn’t look anything like the brother he once had and loved.

He doesn’t catch it. It spills on him, noodles and shrimp and soup splattering the mask on his lap, his face, his clothes. Noatak stares at him, and even though the mask isn’t on, it might as well be, for all the blankness on his face.

He rises smoothly, gracefully, and flicks a couple of stray noodles from the mask’s surface, before sliding it on. Noatak turns and walks away, and when he’s at the door, he turns back to look at him. “For all you know, you weren’t the only one my Equalists captured. The Avatar could be in the cell right beneath you. Did you ever think about that?”

The words make Tarrlok’s blood run cold, and for a second, he forgets everything else. “Noatak–” he calls, stricken. 

Noatak walks out, slamming the door behind him.

-

The first thing Korra registers upon regaining consciousness is that there’s something warm on top of her feet. 

Her eyelids feel swollen and heavy as lead, and she struggles to force them open. For a few moments, everything is blurred, and the first thing that comes into focus is the white dog curled up at her feet, looking at her with worried eyes. _Sitka,_ Korra tries to say, but the word won’t make it out of her sandpaper-dry throat. 

The dog licks her ankle. 

_Sitka–_

_Tarrlok._

It all comes rushing back - it hadn’t been a nightmare, after all.

Korra pushes herself up abruptly - what is she doing, just _lying_ here uselessly? - but the sudden movement sends a spasm of blinding pain through her head. She cries out in shock and pain, and her vision goes black for a second. 

When it comes back, Mako, Bolin, and Asami are there with her, Bolin holding a steadying arm around her shoulders. Mako presses a hot cup of tea into her hands, and Korra blinks, overwhelmed. “Drink it,” he says. “You’re probably dehydrated, and that’s making the headache worse.”

She takes a sip, uncomfortably aware of the concern and worry written on all of their faces. “What happened?” she asks, reaching up and touching her head tentatively. She can’t feel any bruises or bandages. “Was there a fight?”

Mako stares at her incredulously. “You don’t remember?”

Korra frowns. “No, the last thing I remember is telling Lin and Tenzin that Tarrlok…” She can’t say it yet, _still_ can’t wrap her mind around it, and she gestures sharply with her free hand. “That Tarrlok was gone. Look, what _happened_?”

Mako and Asami flinch at her rising voice. “You went into the Avatar State,” Bolin bursts out, seemingly unable to hold it back any longer. 

Korra stares at him, unable to believe it. “…What?" 

"You were just standing there and talking, and then your body shook like you were going to throw up, and you closed your eyes and we thought you were going to pass out - but then when you opened them again they were all blue and glowy and the airbending started, and…” Bolin stops and takes a deep breath. “It was _awesome_ ,” he says, with feeling. “Really scary, but awesome.”

 _Airbending_? Korra looks down at her hands, feeling the numb, spreading sensation of shock. Part of her wants to ask if this is all some kind of sick joke, but one look at their faces brings that line of thought to an end. The only thing that repeats in her head now is the teachings of the Order of the White Lotus: _While in the Avatar State, the Avatar has access to bending techniques that they themselves may not have yet learnt - but they have no conscious control over their actions and can cause great collateral damage._

 _Great collateral damage. Collateral damage collateral damage collateral damage._ Her thoughts slow to a horrified crawl. The factory had been nearby. The police vehicles. People. Lots and lots of people.

“The factory,” she croaks. “The police, the Equalists–”

Mako and Asami exchange a glance. “The factory doesn’t exist anymore,” Asami tells her slowly, gently. “But none of the Equalists inside were hurt badly. There were some broken bones and concussions from the flying rocks and the wind–”

Korra groans, burying her head in her suddenly sweaty hands. She can only imagine what Amon is going to say about this. She hadn’t _meant_ to, but– _Avatar attacks and harms innocent citizens in fit of uncontrolled rage!_  

Mako rests a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Look, Korra, it’s okay,” he reassures. “We took them to the hospital. There’s some damage to the police vehicles, but nobody on our side was seriously hurt either. It could have been way worse.”

“Yeah, but…” Her shoulders sag, and she wishes, brief and uncharacteristic, that she could crawl under the covers and go back to sleep again. That when she wakes up, everything will be right, and she’ll meet Tarrlok on the beach and tell him about this horrible dream she had. “The fact that I _did_ this - and not even around Amon, either - is just…”

Bolin nods. “It was crazy. It was like you weren’t even Korra anymore.” He sits down on the edge of her bed and looks at her with wide eyes. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

Mako nods. “It was unreal." 

Korra shrugs, wiping her palms on the blankets, still trying to piece it together. Nothing comes, except for the memory of this overwhelming sense of rage, and sorrow, and loss. "I didn’t know either. I didn’t _plan_ on it. Everyone always told me that the Avatar State can be brought on in times of emotional distress - the Order of the White Lotus was always afraid I’d trigger it when I got mad at them about something.”

“It can’t be that easy,” Bolin says, sounding bemused. “Otherwise you would have gone Avatar State on the refs every time they made a bad call during a pro-bending match. Or you would have flipped out on Tarrlok when he kidnapped you.”

“Well, I don’t know. I _have_ tried to force it out before, but it never happened.” Korra drains the cup of tea, setting it aside. “It doesn’t work that way, I guess. There are specific things that trigger it. Once, Master Katara told me this story about how some Earth Kingdom general tried to force Avatar Aang into entering the Avatar state, by putting Katara in danger.”

“How would that…?”

“He loved her,” Bolin replies, rolling his eyes at his older brother. “You know, like you would get all, _Mako smash,_ if anyone tried to crush Asami with massive rocks.”

Asami winces. And it’s only when a slightly awkward, confused silence falls over her friends, that Korra realizes that a story about the previous Avatar and his love might not have been the best idea. To her horror, she can almost _see_ them putting two and two together. 

“Um,” she says abruptly, wondering how quickly she can backpedal without making anyone suspicious. “That didn’t work, though! Aang went into the Avatar State once when these thieves kidnapped Appa. His oldest _friend._ So, uh, as you can see, if the Equalists wanted to get me mad, kidnapping my _friends_ …does that. That’s just how it works with Avatars.”

Mako and Bolin nod slowly, in unison. Korra unclenches her grip on the edge of the blankets slowly, wondering if her subtle emphasis on the word _friend_ had worked.

“I’m sure that Korra would have reacted the same if something had happened to any one of us,” Asami says, bending down and straightening the covers, her hair falling forward to hide her face. “Thank goodness that we’re all okay.”

“Thank goodness,” Korra replies fervently, feeling herself relax. _Crisis averted._ Her stomach chooses that exact moment to growl, and she places a hand on it self-consciously. “Hey, could someone get the bag of seal jerky out of my room? I’m starving.”

“That won’t be enough,” Mako says, heading toward the door. “I’ll bring you some dinner from the kitchen.”

“Bolin, do you mind going with Mako?” Asami asks mildly, handing Bolin the empty cup of tea. “I don’t think he’ll be able to carry something to drink back here with the food.”

Bolin grins and salutes both of them smartly. “At your service!” He strides after Mako, leaving the door open.

Korra reaches over to pet Sitka, feeling the dog nuzzle against her hand, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Asami close the door. “Thanks for remembering the water,” she says. “I’m still parched.”

As hard as she tries to sound normal and casual, the words still come out a little wooden. For the second time that day, she swallows against the tears that sting her eyes and the back of her throat. Her mind keeps throwing these sick, awful images - of Tarrlok hurt, starved, beaten - at her, and they won’t go away. Forget food, forget water. All she wants is to get out of here and demand that Asami take her to Amon, and find Amon and _kill_ him for harming Tarrlok. 

Asami sits down on the corner of her bed, making it creak slightly. “You would have reacted the same if it was any one of us,” she repeats, her voice barely audible. “…But Tarrlok is more to you than just a friend, isn’t he?”

Korra freezes. She lifts her head slowly, staring at her friend and trying to figure out whether she had actually _heard_ her correctly. Asami meets her gaze evenly, not backing down. 

“What are you talking about?” She had been going for indignant, shocked, possibly disgusted - but it just comes out hoarse and slightly panicked. “Tarrlok and I aren’t–”

Asami shakes her head wearily. “Look,” she says, cutting her off. “Don’t bother. I know.”

It’s just a few words, but they’re enough to make her stomach plummet. “How?” Korra manages. She couldn’t have been more shocked if Asami had reached over and hit her.

“I saw you two,” she replies, turning away briefly, as if trying to escape the memory. “Kissing. On the morning that you delivered your radio address to Amon.”

 _No way._ No way that had been possible. Stunned, Korra thinks back - the way Tarrlok had complimented her, how sweet he had been, how she had grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss…

Without looking around. For once. She had been _that_ carried away. And they had only pulled apart after hearing the sound of a door slamming… She’d thought it had been in another hall, because she hadn’t _seen_ anybody after the two of them had separated.

“We heard a door slam,” Korra says flatly, quietly, unwilling to even begin thinking about the implications of this. Of their secret being out. “Was that you?”

Asami nods, grimacing. “Yeah. I…found a different way out, and ran straight to the kitchen.”

She remembers that. She remembers walking into the kitchen and seeing Mako, Bolin, and Asami all sitting together. “Wow,” she mumbles, her head spinning. “Congratulations. You acted pretty cool for just having almost walked in on that.”

A frightening realization hits her then, and Korra leans forward sharply. “Wait, you didn’t tell Mako and Bolin, did you?” she demands, narrowly remembering to keep her voice down. “Did you say anything to anyone?”

“No, I didn’t. I promise.” Asami hesitates. “Korra, I…”

“No,” she interrupts, not even caring that it’s rude. “No. _That_ right there on your face is the reason I didn’t want to say anything to anyone!”

“There’s nothing on my face!” Asami snaps back, wounded. “Look, when we started over, we agreed that we wouldn’t keep any secrets!”

“I know, but–” Korra closes her eyes for a second, struggling to control her temper. This was the last thing she needed today. “I didn’t want to lie, but I _knew_ you guys would react badly.”

“I’m not reacting badly, I just want to understand this–”

The sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, and Mako and Bolin’s voices, makes them fall silent abruptly. “We’ll talk later,” Korra whispers, finally noticing the hurt in Asami’s eyes. “I promise.”

She nods, before trying to smile, and that’s when Bolin opens the door with a flourish. “Dinner and refreshments for the lovely lady, prepared by yours truly and assistant chef Mako!”

Mako gives Bolin a withering look. “ _Assistant_ chef?”

“Fine, co-chef,” Bolin grudgingly concedes.

Eating is the last thing her mind wants to do, after that conversation, but Korra’s stomach gives another fierce growl as soon as Bolin sets the bowl of noodles down in front of her. She starts wolfing it down, and a few minutes in, there’s a soft knock on her door.

Korra looks up, startled. Tenzin is standing in the doorway, looking pale and tired, and she swallows the massive mouthful of vegetables with difficulty, waving a chopstick at him in greeting. “Hey, Tenzin.”

“Mako and Bolin told me that you had woken up.” He crosses over to her bedside, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “How are you feeling? We were worried.”

“I’m okay. My head was killing me earlier, but it feels better now.” Korra sets the tray aside, the worst of her hunger temporarily assuaged. “I missed the debriefing, didn’t I?”

“There wasn’t much to it. The Equalists’ weapons collection is no longer a significant concern to us - the only tools they have left are their airplanes and whatever ammunition they stored at the hangar." 

"Alright.” She tilts her head to look back at Tenzin, narrowing her eyes. “Who do you have out there looking for Tarrlok? How many people? Asami, you know most of the locations where Equalists keep prisoners, right?”

Tenzin clears his throat, looking a little uncomfortable. “Lin deployed one team after you told us the news.”

“One team?” Korra asks incredulously. “Are you kidding me? Tenzin–”

He lifts a placating hand, and to her surprise, she sees a flicker of genuine regret on his face. “Korra, from what you told us, it’s already too late to keep him from losing his bending. We have no reason to suspect that Tarrlok would be seriously hurt as a prisoner - none of the police officers that were kidnapped and held suffered any significant mistreatment beyond having their bending taken.”

“Look,” Asami adds hastily, noticing the mutinous expression on her face. “I’ll go check the holding areas tomorrow, as many of them as I can visit. Everybody should be busy assessing the damage at the weapons factory, so I can offer to pick up a few prison guarding shifts.”

It’s not enough, not even close. Tarrlok had always told her that if Amon or the Equalists ever found them in the Earth Kingdom, he would have done everything in his power to keep her from being harmed. Now, the roles are reversed, and she couldn’t do _anything_ for him. She couldn’t save him from losing his bending. And now, she can’t even find him and bring him home. It’s intolerable. Every muscle in her body, every fiber of her being, aches to find Amon and exact some vengeance.

And yet, all Korra can do is nod and mumble an agreement, trying her best to mask her concern. She can’t do anything more to blow her cover and give the secret away. Tenzin is already studying her a bit too closely for her liking…and so is Mako, now that she thinks about it. Being too visibly worried about Tarrlok, and desperate to find him, would be a dead giveaway. She doesn’t need anyone else starting to ask questions.

Despite her best efforts to hold it back, Korra yawns widely. To her dismay, it had the effect she expected it to; everybody looks at her in alarm. “You should rest,” Tenzin suggests firmly. “Your body and mind have gone through a tremendous exertion. We’ll talk more tomorrow morning.”

“I’m not that tired–”

Everyone ignores her. “We’ll check in on you before we leave for patrol,” Bolin assures her.

One by one, they file out. Asami is the last to leave, and she gives her a significant glance over her shoulder.

Once they’re gone, Korra feels all the breath leave her body in a long sigh. She leans back, resting against the pillows, and pets Sitka again. The dog looks up at her with doleful brown eyes, as if asking her where Tarrlok is. Just like that, tears well up in her eyes, and she blinks hard, trying her best to hold them back.

Korra leans forward, hugging Sitka close, and resting her cheek against her fur - just like she had done a hundred times in the Earth Kingdom. Amon took Tarrlok’s bending. No matter how many times she thinks it, and how many times the horrifying image of the proud councilman forced to his knees, Amon’s thumb pressed against his forehead, as he looks up in terror, plays over and over again in her head…she can’t accept it. The thought of Tarrlok not being a waterbender anymore is like imagining the sky being any color but blue. Impossible.

It was just an inextricable part of him, of his identity, like it is for all benders. She had never truly respected him until she had seen his extraordinary ability, during their time on the task force. She had always thought that he was the best waterbender she’d ever seen, besides Katara. Truly gifted. _An extraordinary bloodline, combined with a lifetime of hard work,_ Tarrlok had told her, once.

He had been able to bloodbend without the aid of the full moon, using minimal effort. He could bloodbend at unusually far ranges. She had never seen the full extent of what he could do, and she had never wanted to. It was an evil art, but still… More than once, she had privately thought that it made him one of the most powerful benders in the world, besides her. 

She mourns for more than the loss of incredible, one-of-a-kind talent. He had hated bloodbending, but waterbending had brought Tarrlok joy. She has so many memories of the two of them together like that, in the ocean near their house in the Earth Kingdom. There had been violent, intense spars, with both of them holding back just enough to avoid doing the other serious harm, and there had been hours where they had just swam and played. There was this one time, where they had competed to see who could dive to the bottom to the sea and catch a clam fastest. When they had tied, she had splashed him, waterbended herself out of the ocean and fifteen feet into the air, and then swan-dived down into his arms.

It’s only when Sitka turns, giving her a worried look, that Korra realizes how hard she’s crying. She bites her lip to stifle the sound, wiping at her face harshly, and fighting to stop the shudders that wrack her body. 

She had promised Tarrlok that everything would be okay when they returned to Republic City. He had been worried about Amon (for her sake, not for his), and she had _promised_ him that they would be safe. That nothing would happen to him. He had trusted her, and agreed to come back. And now…

The truth is, if they had stayed in the Earth Kingdom, he would still have his bending. What if he blames her, when they find him? Korra’s insides twist with guilt, and the thought triggers a fresh wave of tears. 

The worst thing about this is that there had been a time when she had actually wished this on him, in the first days and months after he had dragged her to the Earth Kingdom as his hostage. _I wish Amon had found you and taken your bending,_ she had yelled at him once, after he had easily overcome one of her attacks. _You deserve it a hundred times more than the Wolfbats ever did!_

Tarrlok had just smirked at her, and at that time, his arrogance had made her sick. _If you think Amon could defeat me, you’re even more stupid than I thought. He’s just a man, and no man can fight bloodbending like mine._ He had come close to her then,  narrowing his eyes. _Not even the Avatar herself._

Korra wraps her arms around herself, sickened by the memory, and she can’t remember the last time she had wished so hard that she could just take something back.

She sits in silence for several minutes, before stretching her arms out and cracking her knuckles, shaking the thoughts away. There’s no time for regrets now. Now, all she has to do is find Tarrlok and Amon, and at least try to make things right.

-

Regardless of Tenzin’s urging for her to rest, once night falls and Mako and Bolin reluctantly leave for their patrol duties in the city, Korra stumbles out of bed, haphazardly pulling the covers straight. She makes her way outside and over to the stables quickly, glancing in the direction of the meditation pagodas, where Tenzin often sits. Asami had gone to see Mako and Bolin off, taking Sitka with her, so this is the best chance she’ll have to get out and not have everyone fussing over her.

Naga is waiting for her inside the stables, curled up with an enormous eel-shark bone that Tonraq had left behind. As soon as the door creaks open, Naga rises, wagging her tail anxiously. Korra walks straight to her, reaching up and wrapping her arms around her companion’s neck, hugging her tight and burying her face in her fur.

Naga whines, and instead of shaking her free, leans down and licks her hair. Ever since she was a puppy, she always had this amazing ability to pick up on her moods, and Korra swallows over her tight throat, determined not to break down. “Come on,” she says instead, scratching her friend underneath the neck, and her voice almost sounds normal. “Did you eat today? Let’s go for a swim.”

They walk to the beach together, and just the sight of it makes bile rise in her chest. The ocean had been her and Tarrlok’s playground, and–

She can’t imagine it. She can’t imagine it not calling out to her, and having her body remain unresponsive to the water. The fact that Amon had done that to Tarrlok…

Naga nudges her arm gently, her nose cool and wet, and Korra forces the thoughts away. It takes a painstaking effort, but as they wade into the cool water together, she makes herself remember the Water Tribe spiritual music recordings that Master Katara would play during their lessons. The mournful, haunting notes of the flute, and the rhythmic, echoing sound of the bone mallets hitting the shells. _Water cleanses,_ Katara had reminded her, the last time they had waterbended together. It had been two weeks before her departure from the South Pole. She had been filled with tension over her impending firebending exam, and railing against the Order of the White Lotus’s latest restriction on her freedom. _Let it wash away your troubles, your stress, your pain._

Naga dives into the depths of Yue Bay in search of fish, and Korra follows her. She focuses on the pull and glide of her arms through the water; the smooth movements of her legs. The draw of the powerful currents around them, making the seaweed sway in one direction or another, and the way the water plasters Naga’s thick coat to her body. Nothing else. Down here, they’re safe, the masters of their natural environment. Nobody can touch them. Nobody can find them and take this away from them. The polar bear-dog swims with surprising grace, and Korra feels herself smile for the first time in what feels like forever, as she watches those massive paws tread water. 

Naga catches a massive lamprey after a while, and then an even larger starfish-flounder. Clutching her prey in her jaws, she heads for the surface, Korra following behind her. She blinks the saltwater from her eyes as they surface, Naga shaking her head violently and splattering water everywhere. It’s only then that she recognizes the two familiar figures waiting for them on the shore - Sitka sniffs around in the sand, while Asami stands in the shallows, the gentle waves lapping over her feet.

She smiles at them as they make their way up to the beach. “I thought you would be out here.”

Korra bends the saltwater off her body, drying her clothes and hair in an instant. She carefully redirects it back into the ocean, so none of it splashes Asami. “Yeah, there’s nothing like a good swim to clear your mind.” Except that the only thing that’s changed is now her mind just feels weighed down in a quiet way, as opposed to the anxious, screaming way.

Naga and Sitka keep walking down the beach, Naga still holding her night’s catch. Asami gestures after them, her uncertainty obvious. “Do you want to walk? Or sit? We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, we can just hang out for a while.”

“Let’s walk,” Korra says hastily, grateful for the suggestion. If she sits, she feels like she might just curl up into a fetal position in the sand, unable to move or do anything beyond trying to force herself into the Avatar State so she can find and confront Amon.

They hold their shoes in their hands and walk down the beach in silence, feet sinking into the sand. The pressure inside her builds more with every step, and after a while, Asami clears her throat. “Korra, I - I know this is a stupid question, but are you okay?” she asks quietly.

It’s an easy question with an easy answer. _No, Asami, I’m not okay - would you be okay if Amon took Mako’s bending away and then held him prisoner?_  

But the words stick in her throat and don’t come out. It’s just that…this is the first time since all of this has started, that she has had the chance to talk to _anyone_ honestly about _anything_. Emi and Roumei never knew the truth about her identity, and she couldn’t possibly tell them. Tenzin, Mako, Bolin, and her parents, have no idea about the real nature of her relationship with Tarrlok.

For so long, she had longed for the opportunity to open up to someone. All of this - it’s a lot to lock away inside herself. But at the same time, the prospect of finally telling the truth, confiding in someone like this, is frightening. Now that the opportunity is here, it’s even more scary than she had imagined it would be.

Korra bends and picks up a pebble, before tossing it out to sea. She can look anywhere but at Asami. “No. I miss Tarrlok,” she begins, hating the unsteadiness in her voice. “I…it would be one thing if he just went away for whatever reason, but I have no idea what Amon’s doing to him. I mean, I don’t think his life is in danger–”

“No,” Asami says quickly. “The Equalists have never killed a bender.”

“Still, knowing that he lost his bending - I know I shouldn’t care about it, after everything that he did,” Korra adds abruptly. “I know that everyone thinks he deserved it. But I can’t, okay?” The words come out too loud, and she struggles to lower her voice. “I can’t just…let it go and be okay with it, after everything that we’ve been through together.”

“I know. You care about him.” Asami glances at her out of the corner of her eye. 

Korra feels her shoulders slump. “Yeah. I do.”

The silence that falls over them now is even more awkward than the last one had been. “If you don’t mind my asking,” Asami begins delicately. “I - uh - are you guys _together_? Or was the kiss in the hallway the first time anything happened? You don’t have to say anything,” she adds, after a moment. “You can just ignore me if you want. I know it’s not really any of my business.”

“No,” Korra sighs, rubbing the back of her aching neck. “It’s fine. Just–” she glares at the other girl fiercely, hoping that this won’t come back to bite her, and stabs a finger in her direction. “You have to promise me that you won’t say a word to _anybody_ , okay? Ever. Not Bolin, not even Mako. This stays between us.”

Asami hesitates for a second before nodding, looking more than a little apprehensive. “I promise.”

“It’s been going on for a while. The hallway definitely wasn’t the first time we’ve kissed.” Korra shoves her hands in her pockets, feeling her face burn. She isn’t ready to discuss the details just yet, especially because she’s still not sure how Asami is going to react to this. If there’s _one_ look of horror or disgust or condemnation, she’s going to turn around, walk back to the infirmary, and lock herself in there.

“Oh,” Asami says, after a heartbeat. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear with hands that shake slightly. “That was what I thought. Tarrlok brought you back because he loved you…not because he suddenly wanted to save the city from Amon. That story always sounded a little suspicious to me.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” The shore ends, and Korra sits on one of the boulders, glancing at her friend curiously. “You’re taking this better than I expected. I thought you would freak out and make that face you made when you ate beet-and-mushroom stew for the first time.”

Asami laughs shakily, taking a seat on an adjacent rock. “I think I’m still in shock. See?” She reaches out, showing her the half-moon circles where her fingernails had bitten into her palms. 

“I know it may seem weird to you–”

“Yeah, but not for the reasons you think,” Asami replies absentmindedly. “I hate Equalist ideals and everything they stand for, and I’m sure they would hate me if they knew what my true loyalties are. But if I were locked up in seclusion for months with - like - Amon or Liu, like you were with Tarrlok, I think we could resolve our differences to some extent and become friends, just like you and Tarrlok did. I feel like that’s human nature.”

A pained look slides over her face, then. “I get that, Korra. I really do. I get why you don’t still hate him, like a lot of people expected you to. It’s just that - for the dating thing - he’s so _old._ I don’t know how…”

Asami trails off, and there’s the beet-and-mushroom stew expression, and Korra has to bite her lip to hold back a totally inappropriate laugh. “Look, before all of this happened, I would have felt the same way. All I can say is…” She shrugs, at a brief loss. “It’s just really not as weird as I thought it would be. There are a lot of issues that have caused more problems than that one.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Asami hesitates, before looking into her eyes. “Don’t get mad at me for this, but all I want to know is that Tarrlok never…you know.”

Korra raises an eyebrow. “No, I don’t know.”

Her friend fidgets, looking uncomfortable. “Never, you know, forced you into anything while you guys were in the Earth Kingdom. Alone. That’s all I’ve been worried about.”

“No!” Korra says hastily. “No way. Of course not. I mean, _forced_ is a strong word. I really don’t think so, and I would know, right?”

Asami smiles, visibly relieved. “All right.”

They lapse into a silence that is considerably more comfortable. “…You know, I was actually about to break it off, on the day before the raid,” Korra confesses softly, looking down at her hands.

Asami looks at her sharply. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean…like you said, it’s so complicated. The hardest thing is knowing what my mom and dad would say about this, and Tenzin and his family, and you guys. I couldn’t deal with the fact that nobody I care about would ever accept our relationship.” Korra blinks hard. “But when I was actually talking to Tarrlok, I couldn’t do it. I told myself I would wait until after everything with Amon and the Equalists got figured out.” She drums her fingers against the rock.

 "…Do you love him?“ Asami asks, without looking back at her.

Korra closes her eyes for a second, feeling her ponytails sway in the sea breeze. "Yeah,” she acknowledges, her voice barely audible. “I do.”

-

The cell is windowless, and the only way Tarrlok can judge the passage of time is through the meals that appear from him. They are always his favorites, from Republic City restaurants he used to frequent, and it can’t be a coincidence. Noatak had been keeping tabs on him, for all these years. More often than not, the knowledge makes him cry into the takeout cartons, until the food tastes more like saltwater than food.

Tarrlok cries more in those days-that-turn-into-weeks than he has in twenty years, and the worst part is that he has no control over it. It is a nervous breakdown like the one he had in the aftermath of his parents’ death; a spiral into depression like he hasn’t experienced in years. 

There a few things, in particular, that trigger it. One is bathing. The first time he stepped into the water and felt it surround him and not respond to him, he had rested his head against the wall and cried, and stood there, unmoving, until the water changed from hot to cold. 

The second thing is waiting for his hair to dry, instead of bending the water out. It takes several hours. Then there’s shaving with a razor, instead of blades of ice, as he’s been doing for his entire life.

Tarrlok spends his time sitting in the isolated cell, slumped against the wall, unable to keep the flashbacks at bay. All the memories of life with Noatak that he had suppressed, and done his best to put to rest, return - except horribly interspersed with every news story and intelligence about Amon that he’s heard over the past five years.

After leaving him with that - piece of information, that _threat_ , about Korra, Noatak doesn’t return. Tarrlok paces back and forth in his cell until his legs ache, and as much as he tries to reassure himself that it can’t be true, that Korra is too adept a fighter to allow anybody to take her, he still worries. When they come to deliver and take away his food, he asks the Equalist guards, as brusquely as he can, if there were any other prisoners taken during the raid.

They remain silent, and it’s all Tarrlok can do to restrain his temper, to keep himself from snarling at them and delivering useless threats. They would have feared him, once. They would have respected him. Now, it’s all too clear that the only thing they regard him with is contempt, and if only he had his bloodbending back - no, if only they ventured within arm’s reach of the bars - then he would show them–

But they don’t come within arm’s reach of the bars, and they continue to ignore his questions, and it becomes too much. One day, Tarrlok swallows his pride, and demands that he be allowed to speak to Amon.

Noatak arrives the next day. He goes through the same routine, sitting in front of the cell and removing his mask - but only after he makes sure that the guards have cleaned Tarrlok’s cell of all leftover food and water - and finally, he smiles blandly. “You wanted to talk to me, little brother?”

Tarrlok lets that pass. “Is Korra a prisoner?”

The second the words come out of his mouth, he realizes that he had misspoken. He should have followed Noatak’s lead, and referred to her as the Avatar. Cool and composed had been what he had been aiming for, and angry and desperate is what had come out instead. To think that he had once mocked Korra for being an open book, and wearing her feelings on her sleeve…

Noatak watches him carefully. Of course he had picked up on the slip. “You seem oddly concerned about the possibility.”

Tarrlok grits his teeth. “We are allies,” he says. “She is the Avatar, and the best chance we have of defeating you and your terrorist movement. Of course I am concerned.”

He can tell that his brother hasn’t quite bought it. Noatak leans close, narrowing his eyes. “Really. Are the rumors true?”

Tarrlok feels his heartbeat accelerate at the non sequitur, and he curses himself for no longer being able to regulate it - in the presence of a man who is now the most skilled bloodbender in the world, no less. “What rumors?”

“Ludicrous ones,” Noatak replies slowly. He doesn’t blink. “Typical of cheap gossip magazines. Most sensible people pay no mind to them…” He pauses. “But there are some who suggest that the former Councilman Tarrlok fell in love with the Avatar, during their prolonged absence from Republic City. Some even say that he had feelings for her before then. Supposedly, that was why you allowed her to come back, you see. You couldn’t bear to see her unhappy.”

After the initial panic, for a second, all Tarrlok feels is confusion. A wild possibility occurs to him, that if he acknowledges the truth, any affection that Noatak has for him might affect his intentions toward Korra. _Yes, I care for her, please don’t hurt her–_

“No,” he says flatly. “Of course not. She’s almost half my age, for the spirits’ sake.”

“Liar,” Noatak says, without missing a beat, and the expression that slides over his face is both fascinated and disgusted. “I didn’t believe it. The _Avatar_?” He laughs suddenly, short and sharp. “You’re pathetic.”

Tarrlok bristles at the insult, opening his mouth to retort, but Noatak cuts him off. “How _do_ you put up with her? As misguided as you are, you’re as intelligent as she is dense. The Avatar is just a foolish child. I don’t know what you see in her.”

“No,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t expect you to.”

Noatak looks him over, shaking his head, as if really seeing him for the first time. “You’re more foolish than I thought,” he says, voice dripping derision. “I wondered why you had left the safety of wherever you were, to return to an active war zone where you would be prosecuted for your crimes. You were always about self-preservation, and then _this_. It seemed so out of character.”

“I’m not selfish,” Tarrlok replies coldly. “Her well-being was important to me. I made some sacrifices - I put her needs ahead of my own - because I care for her.”

He had meant for the words to sting, and Noatak’s shoulders tense, letting him know that they had hit home. “I–” he begins, his voice rising, and then he stops abruptly. When he speaks again, his tone is deliberate and carefully controlled, as Amon’s always is. “And that is exactly what she wanted you to do. You played right into her hands. I see now that I might have underestimated the Avatar’s intelligence.”

Tarrlok blinks, unable to restrain the honest reaction. “What?”

“You don’t honestly believe that the Avatar genuinely returns whatever feelings you have for her, do you?” There’s amusement and pity on Noatak’s face, and it makes Tarrlok want to reach out and do something, _anything,_ to make it go away. “Returning her to Republic City is clearly all that she wanted from you.”

The transparent attempt at manipulation makes him scoff. Amateur. Noatak has no finesse whatsoever; he’s too obvious about it. “You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” he says dismissively.

The shadow of a smile fades from Noatak’s face. “It seems that you are as blindly arrogant when it comes to your personal life as you were your political dealings. You held the Avatar captive for the better part of a year,” he snaps. “Aside from a few things, the two of you are as dissimilar as night and day. For the spirits’ sake, you’re old enough to be her father, and you think she still _wants_ you?”

“I–”

“Let me guess,” Noatak interrupts, his features twisting with contempt. “The two of you were inseparable in the Earth Kingdom. The Avatar adored you as somebody can only adore their very first love, and that just made you feel _very_ important, didn’t it?”

Tarrlok forces himself to look away, to keep silent. When they had been children, Noatak knew him better than anybody else - sometimes it even seemed like he knew him better than he knew himself. He had thought that would have faded, over time. He’s not supposed to be this easy to read.

“And…” Noatak trails off for a few moments. “You felt like, to deserve that love, to deserve _her,_ you had to look out for her, and protect her. I’m sure you hated to see her hurt. That must have been why you decided to come back here, and of course, the Avatar must have been so grateful.”

It’s terrible, how truthful it is. “But now that you’re back in Republic City, she seems distant, somehow,” Noatak says sharply, and against his better judgement, Tarrlok looks back at him, into his eyes. “She doesn’t make much of an effort to see you, does she? You can tell that she’s doubtful; that she’s having second thoughts. That she’s being the fickle teenager you were afraid she would be.”

A tense silence settles over them. “Your wits may have been addled, but you’re a smart person, essentially,” Noatak says, his eyes boring into him. “Surely you can see how you’ve been used.”

It’s the most juvenile of responses, something that he would have expected from one of Korra’s friends, but Tarrlok snarls, reaching out and grabbing one of the bars uselessly. “Shut up! That was not at all how it was, and you don’t know Korra at all!”

“You’re clearly in denial,” Noatak replies colorlessly, and something inside Tarrlok clenches up at how uncanny this is; how disconcerting it is to have someone reaching inside him and ruthlessly exposing all of his most private feelings and doubts. He leans forward, brushing his fingers across his mask. “As it happens, unfortunately, I do not have the Avatar.”

All the breath leaves Tarrlok’s body in a short, harsh gasp of relief, and he glares at Noatak wordlessly. His older brother returns the look, appearing utterly unaffected. “I thought you should know that nobody is looking for you,” he says shortly. “Nobody has even made the slightest effort to find you. It looks as if moving you to to this special location was a waste of my time. My lieutenant did advise me that this cell should perhaps be saved for a more valuable prisoner than a disgraced ex-councilman under house arrest for his crimes…" 

"Really,” Tarrlok responds, not allowing the slightest bit of emotion to show on his face. “After that, how can I trust anything that you have to say?”

For a split second, Noatak’s perpetual composure seems rattled, but the veneer is in place again soon enough. “I’m not sure.” He shrugs. “I’ve told you what I know. You should trust your own instincts. Listen to what they tell you.”

“I will, thank you.”

The coldness and contempt in his voice rivals Yakone at his worst, and once again, Noatak blinks, the veneer cracking. “You’ve always enjoyed poetry,” he says calmly. “I’m sure that you read the classic Tang piece from Yangchen’s era.”

He had. He owned all three volumes of Tang’s complete collection of poems. Seventy poems in all. Five classics, only one of which was written during Yangchen’s era.

“He mentioned that in every life, the Avatar - the _chosen one,_ so to speak - has their own chosen one, the great love of their life.” Noatak rolls his eyes slightly, making it clear what he thinks of this concept. “The next part was rather striking, if dramatic. _The Avatar alone can move mountains, part seas, walk through fire, and into the most savage windstorms to be reunited with their love. They alone can surmount all obstacles._ ”

He doesn’t need to say anything more. The words hang over them clearly enough. _And here you are, days, maybe weeks later, still in your windowless cell._

Tarrlok remains stubbornly silent, staring at a fixed spot in the wall behind Noatak’s head. He repeats the words in his head like a mantra, and the fact that he has to attach them to a once-beloved older brother makes them unbearably bitter in his mouth. _He is a liar. He cannot be trusted._

Shortly afterward, Noatak slides his mask on, becoming Amon again. He stands. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he tells him, almost gently.

Tarrlok watches him go. The door shuts with a firm click–

–leaving him alone with his thoughts.

-

_to be continued_

-


	16. Part Sixteen

Noatak visits again, two days later.

This time, he seems pensive, and unusually withdrawn. He sits in front of the bars and removes his mask, and to Tarrlok’s relief, he doesn’t say a word about Korra. Or about anything at all.

Tarrlok won’t break the silence, not after what happened last time. It stretches on for a few minutes, and when Noatak clears his throat, Tarrlok feels a small, petty shiver of pride run through him. 

“…Are our parents still alive?”

That had been the last question he had expected.

When he doesn’t respond, Noatak speaks again, the smallest amount of strain creeping into his voice. He’s trying too hard to sound casual, and it shows. “The official record says that Councilman Tarrlok’s parents are deceased, but there’s a lot in that record that’s not true. Our parents’ names, our real place of birth.” He tries to smile, but it’s a poor effort. “The official record also says that you were an only child, so…”

It takes Tarrlok all of three seconds to decide how he wants to play this. It’s even easier than figuring out how to deal with Korra had been.

“She killed herself when I was seventeen,” he says, as blunt and cold as the hilt of the knife that Yakone had once hit him with. “She poisoned herself. I found her on the bathroom floor.”

For once, the facade cracks, and the expression of mute horror on Noatak’s face is the sweetest thing he’s seen in a long while. “What?” he asks hoarsely, leaning forward. “Why?”

“She was terribly depressed, after you died in that storm.” To Tarrlok’s satisfaction, his voice remains steady. “Yakone turning to drinking and abusing the two of us didn’t help. He blamed us. Me, for not being more like you, and her, for raising me to be _soft._ ”

Despite his best efforts, Tarrlok’s face contorts, and he struggles to force it back to some semblance of normalcy. Noatak sees, and he reaches out, wrapping his fingers around one of his prison’s iron bars. “I’m sorry,” he says, with difficulty.

It is, perhaps, the first genuine thing that he has heard out of Noatak’s mouth. It is a hundred times more sincere than his “apology” for taking his bending. Before Tarrlok can say anything, before he can even think about how he should respond, Noatak rises, slipping on his mask - before Tarrlok can get another look at his face. He turns around and strides toward the door, his pace faster than normal. Running away, again.

-

The next time Noatak visits, Tarrlok can’t summon the strength to move away from the wall; from the spot he’s been slumped against for most of the day. He raises his eyes to Noatak and nods in acknowledgement. Noatak towers over him, and peers down somewhat worriedly. The expression is a painful reminder of the one he had worn through a good majority of their childhood. It looks different now, as if his facial muscles have forgotten how to do this.

“Is there something wrong?” he asks, a little awkwardly.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Noatak frowns in irritation. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re clearly upset.”

Tarrlok says nothing.

Noatak spreads his arms in an oddly placating gesture. “Would having a mattress make it better? I told you that it might look suspicious to my followers, but maybe if I say that you insisted on it, in exchange for giving me some information…”

“No,” Tarrlok snaps, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion. “I’m tired of this.” He gestures bitterly at his cell, and Noatak winces.

“I’ll arrange for the mattress, and a small shelf of books–”

Tarrlok lunges to his feet, grabbing the metal bars, and Noatak takes a step back, startled. “That will do nothing,” he hisses, almost choking on his own desperation. He is no stranger to dark emotions, but this is a fresh new horror. “I’m tired of being kept here. I’m tired of being a prisoner.”

The second the words leave his throat, his stomach turns. The last time he had heard those words was when Korra had shouted them at him, raging and furious–

No. The last time was months later, when she had said it softly, tired, pleading. He had taken her hand and told her he was sorry. After that, she hadn’t brought it up again, and he had been pleased.

That was when the hope inside her, the sense of trust that he would do right by her, had died. A little more than a month later, he had found Korra in the bathroom, half-healed slashes and burns on the insides of her wrists. At that time, he hadn’t been able to fathom the depths of her despair and frustration, but now…

_I am a monster,_ Tarrlok realizes dully. _I am, Noatak is, Yakone was._ This cruelty is their legacy; a taint even stronger than bloodbending.

Maybe some of the despair shows on his face, because Noatak’s arm twitches - like he had wanted to reach out and touch his hand, but stopped himself from doing so. “It will all be over soon,” he says quietly, almost gently. “Within a week. The other side doesn’t know it, of course. They think they have won the war by destroying our weapons, but we are closer than ever to getting what we want.”

“Really.” Noatak is delusional. But his words regarding Korra’s true feelings for him - or lack thereof - echo in Tarrlok’s memory, and they make him want to curl up in a ball. Is he no better? “…How do you plan to do that?”

Noatak opens his mouth, before visibly hesitating. Finally, he shrugs, evidently deciding there is no harm in it. “I plan to topple the existing government, once and for all. I’ll capture the members of the council and other key members of the anti-revolutionary forces, and take their bending.”

Even after so long, the utterly casual way that he refers to maiming a person, and robbing them of a key core of who they are, makes Tarrlok sick. And… _key members of the anti-revolutionary forces,_ he realizes, with a sense of sinking dread. _Tenzin, Beifong, Saikhan. Korra._

“What you’re suggesting is madness,” he says curtly. “There’s no way it can work. Noatak, please don’t. Please. If - if you stop and end this now, before any more people are hurt, the Council will be merciful.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it,” Noatak replies, without missing a beat. He pauses, and his eyes seem to glow with fervor. “I won’t back down. I can’t back down, this close to a new world order. We have sympathizers in the Fire Nation, and all over the Earth Kingdom. Who knows how far this will spread, after Republic City?”

“There will be no _after_ Republic City!” Tarrlok snaps. “You’ll lose. You’ll be defeated here. You don’t stand a chance.”

“No,” Noatak says smoothly. “You’re wrong, brother. You couldn’t be more wrong.”

The words are spoken with complete, frightening conviction. There isn’t even the smallest flicker of self-doubt inside him. Tarrlok takes a step back, masking his unease. Not for the first time, he wonders if Noatak isn’t a little bit unstable. In his unwavering single-mindedness and obsession, Noatak reminds him of Yakone.

“There will be a place for you in the new regime,” Noatak assures him. “If you’re cooperative enough, you can even return to the high ranks of politics.” He smiles. “I know all of this will require a certain amount of adjustment, but I’m sure you will be happy, given time.”

How can I? Tarrlok thinks numbly. But he doesn’t say anything, because there is no hope of convincing Noatak otherwise.

-

Korra frowns at her book, taking the words on the page in. After a few minutes, when it finally clicks, she turns the brittle page of the volume on spirituality, absentmindedly swatting away the flies buzzing around her. She’s a few sentences into the first paragraph when she hears the heavy tread of footsteps coming up the steps to the pagoda, making the aged wood creak.

She looks up to see Bolin, still dressed in his uniform, and obviously fresh off a shift in the mainland. “Hey, Korra,” he says, fidgeting apologetically. “Sorry to bother you while you’re reading and stuff, but there’s going to be a meeting, and they want you to be there." 

Korra smiles, straightening with a wince, and rubbing her sore neck. "That’s fine. I needed a break, anyway. It’s been, like, two hours.”

Bolin shudders, clearly understanding her pain, and she stands, folding a corner of the page to mark her place in the book. Too late, she remembers Tenzin’s warning against doing that, and grimaces. The look on his face is going to be _great._ This book is almost as old as Master Katara.

She and Bolin start heading over to the house, and Korra has to bite her lip to keep herself from asking him if he thinks there will be any potential leads on Tarrlok. It’s been more than two weeks since he had been captured - the thought still leaves a knot in her stomach - and they haven’t had any luck in tracking him down. Asami had reported that she couldn’t find him in any of the normal holding locations for prisoners, and even her father had no idea where Amon had kept him. 

The dull ache inside her chest is getting worse. Korra tries to push the thoughts away, and focus on what Bolin is saying about the looting that is taking place in the heart of the city. Avatar Aang was the first person who had ever been able to take away bending…and until recently, the only one who could. She had asked Tenzin a few days ago, whether Aang had any theories about how to give it back. If that was written in any of his journals.

Tenzin had shaken his head no, silent and grave. _He only took the bending from two people, in his entire lifetime,_ he had said, after a while _. Neither of them deserved to have it returned to them. I don’t think it was something he even contemplated._

By the time she and Bolin walk into the meeting room, everybody else is already there. Asami is still dressed in her Equalist clothing, and Korra gives her and Mako a small smile, as she and Bolin settle into their usual spots around the table. Lin starts the meeting, and to Korra’s relief, Bolin asks the question that had been on her mind.

“Any word about Tarrlok?”

Asami shakes her head, frowning. “None. From what I’ve heard, I don’t think Amon is keeping him at his private residence, so we can rule that out.”

“Speaking of what you heard,” Korra begins, if only to grant herself a momentary distraction from the pang of worry inside her. _If Amon killed Tarrlok, and dumped him in the ocean…_ “Do you know what the Equalists are going to do, now that their weapons are destroyed? Are they ready to give up?”

“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” Lin says grimly. “Asami?”

“No, it’s not,” she replies, her face darkening with anger. “There were meetings about it today. Amon’s new plan is to overthrow the government. He wants to capture the councilmembers, as many police as possible, and Korra.” Asami’s gaze lights on her, and Korra feels the bile rising in her throat. “…And take their bending. In public." 

Tenzin, Lin, and Saikhan exchange worried glances. Mako tenses up, and Bolin goes pale, and perversely, their apprehension just makes her angry. Her fist hits the table so hard that Saikhan’s cup of tea jumps. "I don’t think so,” she snaps. “They can _try_.”

“Have you heard when any attacks targeting Korra might take place?” Tenzin asks, anxiously looking out of the windows, as if he expects an Equalist airship to land as they speak.

“Well, they still have their airships.” Asami looks out the window as well, her mouth turning downward at the corners. “As of today, they’re planning an attack here. On Air Temple Island.”

A stunned silence falls over the table, and Mako is the one to break it. “What are we going to do?”

Lin closes her eyes briefly. “We have two options, because of our advance knowledge of the attack,” she says, her voice clipped. “We can stand and fight, or–”

“I say we do that,” Korra interrupts, and she’s pleased to see Mako and Bolin nod in resolute agreement. 

Lin glares at the interruption. “Or we can choose to pursue a tactical retreat.”

“You’re saying we should run away?” Korra asks blankly. Not for the first time, she’s amazed that Lin and the legendary, tougher-than-tough Toph Beifong are actually related.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Lin says sharply. “There are a lot of things we need to take into consideration. We have the Air Acolytes’ safety to think about.”

“That’s absolutely right, Korra,” Tenzin agrees. “They are pacifists, and they shouldn’t be dragged into this conflict.”

“Besides, counting the Order of the White Lotus, and the standard police presence on the island, we only have about thirty-five fighters. Including the people at this table.”

Korra scowls at Saikhan, who seems to wilt beneath her glare. “So? We’re all strong. I’m sure we can take them.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Lin cuts in. “Those airships are nearly invincible from the ground.”

“Plus, the fleet of fighters the Equalists send in is going to be way, way more than thirty-five,” Asami adds. “Amon wants to capture every bender on this island.”

“How many Equalists are we talking about, here?” Bolin asks uneasily. “LIke…fifty? More than fifty?”

Asami winces. “There could be up to seventy-five.”

Korra stares, feeling the blood drain from her face. _Okay, those are not good odds._ _Still…_ “We can’t run,” she protests, looking at Tenzin for support. “Where are we going to go? What are we going to do? If we run away, we’re leaving the city for Amon to take it!”

“But we can’t stay here and risk getting taken by the Equalists, either,” Mako says, looking at her bleakly. “You’re in a lot of danger here, Korra.”

“Exactly. And to answer your question, we can evacuate to the Earth Kingdom. The United Republic’s armed forces, and a council of peacekeepers, can join us within a week.” Tenzin looks around the table. “Together, we can re-enter the city, and try to restore order." 

Korra presses her lips together, unimpressed. "I don’t like it. Look, Amon will wreak total havoc while we’re gone. Someone should stay and keep an eye on things here.”

“I will be staying, with the police officers,” Saikhan says, nodding at Lin. 

Korra opens her mouth, eager to seize the opportunity to offer her help - but before she can say anything, Tenzin cuts her off. “No,” he says firmly. “I know what you’re thinking, and it is absolutely out of the question.”

She weighs the pros and cons of arguing, before falling into a mutinous silence. _We’ll see about that._

Saikhan clears his throat. “When will this attack take place?”

Asami shrugs, unhappiness written on every feature. “I haven’t heard a lot of the details. Now that the weapons are destroyed, I’m not working with my dad anymore, so we can’t talk as much as we used to. And besides…” she hesitates. “After the raid, some of the higher-ups started asking me questions. Asking me why I wasn’t able to warn them about it. My dad got really upset about it and shut them down, but the damage is done.”

“This is not good,” Mako murmurs. “If they get really suspicious and arrest you, or something…”

“I don’t think it’s going to go that far.” Asami looks at Lin. “All I know is that it’ll probably happen sometime this week. We should get ready to leave as soon as possible.”

“Right now?” Bolin asks, wide-eyed. “Or tomorrow morning?”

Tenzin looks around, and not for the first time, Korra notices how much older he looks. He had to be separated from his family, to keep them out of danger. That must have been hard enough, and now, he has to leave his home as well; the home that his parents had built. 

“It’s too late now,” he says, finally. “We need to ready the bison, and make sure they’re prepared for the journey. We should leave tomorrow, under cover of darkness.”

“Are the other councilmembers coming too?” Mako asks.

“They should,” Korra interjects, as smoothly as she can. “Tenzin, you can take them on Oogi, with Lin.”

Tenzin looks at Lin. “Their families?” he asks. “Both of them are married to benders, which makes them targets for the Equalists.”

Lin nods. “All of us can fit on two bisons. Korra, Mako, Bolin, and Asami can take the third.”

Korra glances at Mako and Asami, across from her, and Bolin, at her side, and an unspoken understanding passes between the four of them. “Tenzin, Lin, you guys can take Oogi and Sparky to work tomorrow,” she says. “This line is secure, right? Call up the councilmembers and tell them to get their families over to City Hall by the time it gets dark tomorrow. You leave then. About an hour or an hour and a half after sunset, we’ll take off from here with Lily.”

“That is a good idea,” Saikhan acknowledges. “It may be dark, but we don’t want any Equalists or airship pilots to spot three sky bisons taking off at the same time.”

“Yeah,” Korra nods. “While you guys are at work, we’ll pack whatever you need us to.”

“That would be wonderful.” Tenzin sighs, relieved. “Thank you for cooperating, Korra.”

For just a second, Lin levels her with a suspicious look. Korra returns it with an expression of guileless, wide-eyed innocence - tested on the Order of the White Lotus, and perfected on Tarrlok. It works. Lin narrows her eyes in silent warning, and then looks away. 

After the meeting comes to a close, everyone goes their separate ways. When Tenzin rises, sighing heavily and asking if they would like vegetable fried rice for dinner, Mako offers to cook instead. 

Tenzin thanks him, and goes off to call the councilmembers. Korra, Asami, and Bolin follow Mako to the kitchen wordlessly, closing the door behind them.

Bolin turns on the radio, twisting the volume knob higher than Tenzin normally keeps it, and starts to sing along. Asami smiles at him, before pulling a few pots and pans out of the cupboard, clanging them loudly together as she does so. Mako turns on the faucet, beginning to wash the vegetables.

Under the cover of the noise, they can speak freely, if quietly. “We’re not leaving the city, are we?” Mako asks, in an undertone.

Korra returns his gaze. “No way.”

-

Lin and Tenzin leave early the next morning, followed by the Order of the White Lotus and the Air Acolytes. There’s no room on the bison for all of them, so they’re traveling by train. Korra breathes a sigh of relief, as she watches them go. 

Once she and her friends have the island to themselves, all that’s left to do is plan, and pack. Korra and Asami put the things into bags and suitcases, and Mako and Bolin load them onto Lily the sky-bison’s back. 

After a short lunch break, she and Asami move into Lin’s room. Korra immediately proceeds to fling all the clothes she can reach into the nearest bag, and Asami cringes in mock horror, as she stacks neatly folded pants on the edge of the bed. “Fold, Korra, fold. You know what she’s going to say if she pulls that open and sees a mess.”

Korra grins, relishing the prospect. “I know,” she says, taking a brassiere from the drawer. She eyes it, wondering whether she can slingshot it into the bag. To her delight, it works, and she lines up another brassiere for the next shot. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

Asami laughs, but for the second time that day, Korra notices that the sound seems a little off. Her friend’s face is strained, and there are dark circles underneath her eyes.

She coughs awkwardly, flinging the piece of underwear into the bag. “Uh, Asami, are you okay? I mean…is anything wrong?”

Asami shrugs, not looking up from the toiletries she’s sorting into the bag’s side pockets and zippered pouches. “This means it’s over, between my dad and I,” she says, after a long silence. “I mean…because I didn’t come in today to tell him that we were leaving…everybody will know that I was never really an Equalist in the first place. He’ll know that this whole time, I was lying to him.” She stops, and her shoulders sag. “I know that it’s stupid. I know that he lied to me for years, too. But he stood up for me, when I was accused. He trusted me.”

Korra sets down the shirt she had been trying to fold, and walks over to Asami. Unsure of what to do, she pats her friend on the shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it. After what happened to Asami’s mother, Hiroshi and Asami should have stuck together. Instead, her dad’s lies and deceit had driven an awful wedge between them.

Asami gives her a wan smile. “I don’t regret what I did. What I chose. I know I’m on the right side, but…” She sighs, looking down at the blankets. “It’s so hard. I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

There is nothing that she can say to that; the sentiment is too familiar. The two of them keep packing, in silence.

-

That night, the four of them meet in front of the sky bison stables. Korra checks the ties securing the bags to Lily’s saddle, before hopping down from the sky bison’s back. “How are we on time?”

Asami glances at her watch. “Okay,” she reports. “Tenzin, Lin, and the others must have left about an hour ago. We should be safe.”

Mako looks at her. “Do you have the letter?”

“Yeah.” Korra tucks it under the bison’s saddle, so that only a corner peeps out. It’s just a short note, addressed to Tenzin and Lin. _I’m sorry for lying, but I have to do this. Don’t worry about me. Don’t come back_ \- underlined three times. _And I won’t let my friends get hurt, either._

Korra pats the bison’s flank gently, feeling the soft fur underneath her hand. “Yip yip,” she says, the words bittersweet in her mouth, as she remembers Appa and Aang, in the Spirit World. Somewhere, if Aang isn’t keeping an eye on Tenzin, he can see her. _Am I doing the right thing?_ she asks silently. But of course, there is no answer.

Lily takes off, rising into the sky with surprising grace. They watch her for a few moments, and then Korra turns to her friends. “Let’s go.”

They shoulder their bags, and trudge into the now-empty stables. Naga is waiting near the door, Sitka at her side. She had stuffed Naga’s bag full of food and supplies, and Bolin had even attached a small pack to Sitka’s back. 

Mako, Asami, and Bolin hang back, visibly hesitant. “Don’t worry,” Korra tells them bracingly. “It’ll be fine. Naga?”

The polar bear-dog crouches, and Korra helps her friends onto the saddle. When Naga rises to her full height, Mako looks down at the ground and swallows hard, Asami closes her eyes, and Bolin - seated at the front and holding the reins - grins, looking tremendously excited. “This. Is. Awesome!”

Korra can’t help but smile, as she leads them out of the stables, Sitka trotting at her side. They make their way to the coast, stopping just short of the water. Across the bay, they can see the faint lights of the mainland…not bright and glittering, like it used to be.

“Remember what I told you,” Korra says, tilting her head back, to look at them. “Pat her neck every time you want her to come up for air. And don’t freak out,” she repeats. “She’ll take care of you." 

She has time for one last glimpse of their faces before Naga wades into the water. When they’re safely submerged, she looks over at Sitka. The dog is panting; wagging her tail anxiously, and Korra can’t help but remember how Tarrlok had used waterbending to encase her in an air-filled bubble, when they had arrived on Air Temple Island.

…When they had arrived on Air Temple Island, on a night a lot like this one. Dark, and heavy with uncertainty.

"I’m sorry, little one,” Korra tells Sitka, as she waterbends a protective bubble around the whining dog. She guides Sitka into the water, before diving in herself. 

Before she starts to swim, she takes one look back, at Air Temple Island. The lights are out. The pagodas are empty. The lemurs have retreated into the forest, and the bison are all gone. The incense in the temple itself is unlit. Air Temple Island is deserted, for the first time since Aang had built it, and her chest tightens. She thinks of Aang and Katara, and their three children. Tenzin and his family, and the Air Acolytes that also call this place home. Everybody had been driven away.

_I’ll win your home back for you. I’ll help make this city safe again, so that nobody has to live in fear._

With that, Korra turns away, takes a deep breath, and begins to swim. 

-

They all surface near the mainland at about the same time. With effort, Naga leaps from the sea to the concrete ledge, on the side of the deserted road. Korra bends Sitka up there with her friends, before rising out of the water with the aid of a small water twister. For several moments, they all huddle together in the dark, dripping and exhausted. 

Finally, she bends the water off them, directing it back to the bay. Mako rummages through Naga’s saddlebag, fishing out two large, hooded jackets. He tosses one to her and one to Asami, keeping a wary eye on the empty streets. Most of the streetlights are out, save a couple about a quarter of a mile down the road, but that light is enough. “Put these on. We don’t want anyone recognizing you guys.”

“Right, because there are lots of other teenagers in Republic City who travel with a polar bear-dog,” Korra says dryly, but she shrugs it on and pulls up the hood anyway. “Where should we hide out?" 

Bolin squints at a faded piece of graffiti on the wall of a nearby building. "There’s a tunnel system nearby,” he says. “Remember, bro? The one where we used to sleep? I think that would be good.”

Mako nods in recognition. “Good idea. I had almost forgotten that place.”

It takes several minutes to get there, with he and Bolin leading the way. Korra paces around the entrance to the tunnel over and over again, until she’s satisfied that it’s remote and random enough that no Equalists will come poking around. They retreat far inside, Naga sitting protectively in front of their group.

She and Mako make a simple dinner of fish roasted over the fire. All four of them eat in relative silence, the mood subdued. It’s finally Bolin who says what everybody is thinking, as he peels a chunk of skin off his fish, and feeds it to Sitka. “I hope everyone made it out of Republic City okay.”

“Me too,” Korra says quietly. She can’t see the sky from here, but she imagines Tenzin and Lin on the air bisons, headed toward the Earth Kingdom and safety.

After dinner, they fall asleep quickly, not staying up to talk, as they usually do. Korra leans against Naga, resting against her friend’s soft fur. Bolin curls up on the floor, using his pack as a pillow, with one arm around Sitka.

Mako and Asami fall asleep facing one another, hand-in-hand. As tired and strained as they had been during the day, their faces are smooth and peaceful now. The sight makes something clench up tight inside her, but not for the same reasons it had in the past. 

She misses Tarrlok. Their relationship had never been normal; never been something she could explain to anybody, but she had cared about him.

Korra places a hand against Naga’s side, feeling the rise and fall of her body, slow and steady and gentle. It is a soothing rhythm, but despite her exhaustion and the long day, sleep takes hours to come.

- 

Korra dreams that she is back in the Earth Kingdom. She’s sleeping in her bed, in her room, in the little blue house. But then, she’s woken up by - not Tarrlok, but her friends Emi and Roumei. Roumei pulls the covers off her and helps her out of bed, while Emi hastily gathers her hunting supplies. “Wake up, Senna!” they cry. “There are loose lion-panda spirits in the town, and you’re the only one who can stop them!" 

But she’s groggy; totally out of it. "Wake up, Senna! You have to help!”

There are hands on her shoulders, but they aren’t Emi or Roumei’s, and it’s Mako who is telling her to wake up. His voice is urgent and his eyes wide, and Korra shakes her head, rubbing her eyes. Asami and Bolin are sitting up as well, looking as sleepy and confused as she feels.

From the sunlight that she sees at the end of the tunnel, it’s later in the morning than she had planned to get up. “What’s up?” she asks, watching Mako pace.

“I woke up a little while ago, and I went to the community bathroom near the market,” he says shortly. “While I was in there, a bunch of Equalists came in.”

Korra is up and on her feet before she realizes it. “What?”

Asami’s jaw drops. “Were you followed?”

“I’m on it.” Bolin strides to the mouth of the tunnel to check, and Korra pats Sitka on the head, looking down at her. “Go stand guard.”

Mako remains silent, a muscle in his jaw jumping with strain, until Bolin returns. “I overheard them talking. Don’t worry, they didn’t see me. But…it’s bad news, guys.”

He doesn’t even have to say anything. From the look on his face, she knows, and Korra feels like she just got the wind knocked out of her. “No,” she whispers. Asami stares, stunned.

Bolin looks vaguely ill. “What? What is it?”

“Amon captured the councilmembers. And Tenzin and Chief Beifong.”

“How?” Korra explodes. Her world spins. This is the worst thing that could happen. The councilmembers. Lin. Tenzin, her teacher and friend, who she’s known forever. “We planned this! We were careful! How did it happen?”

Mako shakes his head, dazed. “I guess that some random patrol saw them taking off from City Hall. They thought it was strange that there were two bison instead of one, and that the bison weren’t heading in the direction of Air Temple Island. They notified the pilot of an airship that was in the sky, and Equalist headquarters. Amon took another airship up…and I guess that the air bisons couldn’t outrun the airships.”

Everybody looks sick. The thought of Equalists restraining Tenzin and Lin, as Amon makes his way to them… Korra bites the inside of her cheek, trying to hold back a scream. Trying to keep the nausea and dizziness at bay. The last thing she needs is to go into the Avatar State, destroy the tunnel, and crush her friends under all this rock.

“What happened?” she demands. “Did Amon…did he…” She can’t finish.

Mako looks at her blankly. “Something’s going down at the pro-bending stadium, in a few hours. They were talking about it. The councilmembers are going to be there, and Beifong and Tenzin.”

Korra stares at him and Bolin. “It’s going to be like what happened at the Revelation. When Amon took Zolt and the other triad members’ bending in public.” Except Bolt and the gang members were criminals, possibly murderers like the ones who had killed Mako and Bolin’s parents and Asami’s mom, and they deserved it. The councilmembers and Tenzin and Lin haven’t harmed anybody, and he’s going to hurt them, and make it a _spectacle_ –

Asami takes a deep breath. “How are we going to stop this thing?” she asks levelly.

Korra’s hands clench into fists. “We have to find Amon and end him, before he even gets to the pro-bending stadium.”

“How?” Mako asks her, massaging his temples.

“Where would Amon be, right now?” Korra asks, looking at Asami. “Mako, did you hear anything?”

“He could be in an airship,” Asami replies. “But we have no way of getting up there. There’s also a chance that he could be at Equalist headquarters, which means…”

Korra nods absently, the blood pounding in her ears. “Fine. I’m going in.”

They all protest at once - the usual, _Korra, it’s not safe, blah blah blah._ She tunes it out, grabbing Mako by the arm. “You said some of them were at the market. Go and jump one of them, strip him, and bring me the uniform. Can you do that?”

Mako hesitates, and she looks him in the eye. “Go. Please.”

He nods reluctantly, and Bolin comes to stand beside him. “Get one for me too.”

“What? Bolin, you’re not–”

“Yes, I am,” he says stubbornly.

“If you’re going in, we all are,” Mako agrees.

“No!” Korra yells, hating the way her voice cracks, betraying her. “Look, if you guys got captured, I wouldn’t be able to stand it. Lin and Tenzin are already…”

“Well, we can’t stand the thought of you doing this alone.” Asami pulls out two Equalist uniforms from her pack, and tosses one to her. “That will fit you. Mako, Bolin, you need to get your own." 

"Guys…” Korra begins, looking at them. “Please–”

“We’re all in this together,” Mako says fiercely.

“Yeah, we’ve got your back,” Bolin adds, and Asami smiles.

“Team Avatar, remember?”

Korra doesn’t know whether she wants to punch all of them or hug them, and though time is of the essence here, she does the latter.

-

She hates the Equalist clothing. The tight, clinging material; the weird, rubbery texture, so different from what she’s used to. She hates the stupid masks and the green-tinted goggles, though they are the best disguise she and her friends could have asked for. 

And Korra hates that they don’t have Naga and Sitka by their side, as they make their way through the weirdly empty city streets. Naga having to stay behind, in the tunnel, had been understandable. But she’s used to having Sitka with her, because of her normal dog size.

Asami leads them right to one of the secret entrances to the Equalist headquarters. To Korra’s surprise, Mako and Bolin know exactly where they’re going. Apparently, they had searched this vast underground network for her, while they had been under the brief impression that Amon had been the one responsible for her disappearance from City Hall last year. As they enter the transport tunnels, Korra’s muscles tense with apprehension, preparing for a fight - but none of the Equalists they pass even spare her a second glance.

“What are we going to do?” Mako mutters, his voice barely audible, when they hop off the transport vehicle, at what looks like the center of the headquarters area. 

Asami scans the cavernous center area. “I don’t see Amon and the Lieutenant anywhere,” she whispers, glancing at the bunch of Equalists arriving in the next transport vehicle. “They’re usually out here, in the heart of things. Meeting with the tacticians, training new recruits, that sort of stuff. But with the thing going on later today, maybe they’re off planning somewhere, coordinating it–”

Korra looks around, at the several tunnels branching off the room where they’re standing. “We have to split up,” she says, with more confidence than she feels. The last thing she wants to do is let them out of her sight and risk losing them, like she had lost Tenzin, Lin, Tarrlok. On their way over here, she had let it slip out. _Maybe if I had gone with them, I could have been able to help. I could have kept them from being taken._

_No,_ Mako had argued. _Then you would have been taken too, and there would be no hope for Republic City._

They nod, now. “We’ll each take different tunnels,” Asami says. “Does meeting back here in half an hour sound good?”

Korra inclines her head. “Yeah. If any of us find anything, we shouldn’t act alone. We’ll meet back here, and then we can go to whatever it is that we found, and deal with it together.” Half an hour. She never had a good sense of time, but now there’s a horrible clock ticking inside her head. Counting down the hour and a half until the thing at the pro-bending stadium. “You guys look for the prisoners. I’ll look for Amon.”

“Got it,” Bolin says.

Asami points her toward one of the tunnels. “I don’t know exactly where his private office is. He keeps it a secret, so that people don’t come by and bother him while he’s working. I know it’s somewhere down there, though. I’ve seen my dad and him coming out of that tunnel, on their way to the meeting rooms. You might want to check that out.”

“All right.” Before they leave, the words come tumbling out, without her permission. “If you find Tarrlok…”

They nod. Bolin and Asami first, and Mako after a pause. And then they’re all going their separate ways, and she prays to whatever spirits that are listening that they’ll be okay.

Korra sets off, down the tunnel Asami had indicated, trying her hardest to mimic the confident, purposeful stride of the Equalists she passes. It’s confusing down here. There are a bunch of side tunnels that branch off the main one. _If I was an evil psycho maniac, where would I want my creepy underground office to be?_ she muses. 

She takes the next left turn, on impulse, and that leads her to another maze-like sub-network. With each step she takes, it gets darker and colder - which means that she must be going further underground. What had Asami said to them, on the way here? A lot of the holding cells were at the lowest levels. 

Korra curses under her breath. Upon second thought, it’s unlikely that Amon would be anywhere near here. _Couldn’t risk one of the prisoners getting out, breaking into his office, and smashing his skull in._ What she should do is turn around and start searching all over again…but what if Tenzin and Lin are here? Or the other councilmembers and their families? 

Lost in thought, Korra turns the next corner she comes across - and nearly crashes into another Equalist. A real Equalist. It takes all of her self-control to keep herself from instinctively lashing out, before she remembers that the Equalist won’t recognize her, of course. She settles for ducking her head and coughing, trying to lower the pitch of her real voice. “Uh, sorry.”

“There you are,” the Equalist says crossly. To Korra’s surprise, she holds out a bag of…food? “Where were you? You were supposed to relieve me ten minutes ago.”

_Spirits, they sound so normal._ Perplexed, Korra reaches out and takes the greasy paper bag. “Bathroom,” she mumbles. “Sorry.”

The Equalist huffs impatiently, tossing her a key. “You should really get that checked out. Anyway, someone will come by in three hours. Have fun.”

She sweeps off, and Korra waits with bated breath, until she’s certain that she’s gone. Underneath the gloves, her palms are damp with sweat. She now has access to a prisoner. A prisoner who she can break out. 

She fumbles with the key in the lock, before it finally gives way, the heavy iron door swinging open. It’s dark inside, and her eyes struggle to adjust to the gloom, as she shuts and locks the door behind her.

At first, it looks like the room is empty. But then she sees the cell, at the far end, and the single, unresponsive figure slumped against the back wall.

Her heart leaps - but it’s not Tenzin. The posture is all wrong, and this guy has hair. It’s not Lin. Lin would be fighting and trying to metalbend the bars…

Korra drops the bag of food.

It lands on the ground with a muffled thump. Tarrlok looks up at her wearily, indifferently. There is no spark of recognition in his eyes. There is no spark of _anything_ in his eyes. He’s almost unrecognizable - thinner, disheveled; his clothes wrinkled, and his hair loose and unkempt. He looks defeated, a world away from his old, proud self, and Korra feels her throat tighten and close over.

She says his name, and it comes out strangled and wrong-sounding. Tarrlok looks up at her again, sharply, disbelievingly–

Korra strides toward him, pulling her mask and goggles off, and flinging them aside. Tarrlok stands, almost tripping in his haste to make it to the bars. “Korra,” he says hoarsely. “Is that really you?”

Through the bars, though they dig into her body, she hugs him harder than she ever has before. Her face is pressed against his worn anorak - it smells of harsh, cheap soap; no fancy cologne. He’s holding her too, and she can hear that he’s trying not to cry.

“I’m so sorry,” she says tearfully. Her eyes are stinging, and she shuts them tightly. “I should have protected you.”

Tarrlok strokes her hair. “There was nothing you could have done,” he replies, his voice breaking. “Korra…”

“And I should have found you sooner.” Korra pulls away, taking him in as best as she can in this dimness. “I looked, we all did, and so did Asami. She said you weren’t here.”

Tarrlok shakes his head. “I wasn’t. They brought me here last night. I suppose that they wanted to clear the higher-security holding area for a more important prisoner.”

“Where were you? Did they hurt you, besides…” She trails off, anguished.

A shadow passes over his face. “No. They didn’t. I don’t know where they were holding me, but it was a long way outside the city.” He pauses, looking rattled. “But that isn’t important. Amon has Tenzin and the others, and he plans to take their bending this afternoon, at the pro-bending stadium. You have to–”

“I know,” Korra says hastily. “I came here to look for Amon, and for them.”

Tarrlok’s skin is ashen with worry. “It’s too late. They left already. Remaining here was too great a risk, because Amon knew you were still out in the city somewhere.”

Korra swears, her mind racing. “Where did they go?” she demands. But then something odd registers. How would Tarrlok know? Even if the guards had been talking about it outside, the iron door is way too thick for him to hear anything from out there. “Wait,” she says slowly. “Hold on. Did the guards tell you? Or was it Amon?” But why would Amon tell him anything?

A shiver, a real shiver, passes over Tarrlok. It’s only then that she realizes how frightened he looks, underneath the strain. She reaches for him, trying to reassure him somehow, but Tarrlok grabs his hand. “Listen to me,” he says, and the urgency in his voice startles her. “Amon is more dangerous than we ever imagined. Amon is - is…”

He trips over the words, and Korra feels a sense of foreboding stir within her. Calm, always-in-control Tarrlok. The only time this happened was–

“Amon is Noatak.”

He lets go of her hand, as if ashamed. He’s staring at the floor, his hair falling forward to hide his face, and…her first, shameful thought is that the stress and horror of this has made him lose his mind. Made his hold on sanity slip. After everything that he has been through, maybe this was the last straw. Noatak, his brother? His dead brother?

“Tarrlok,” Korra says shakily. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. _This, on top of Tenzin and the others…_ But now is not the time. “Are you sure?”

He looks at her, and the pain in his expression makes her want to take a step back. “I recognized his bloodbending grip. I would know it anywhere.”

_Spirits,_ Korra realizes, shocked. Suddenly, it starts to make some sense. She had wondered how Amon had overpowered Tarrlok’s bloodbending. Of course. Only a more powerful bloodbender could…

But Noatak is dead. Tarrlok had told her so himself; how he hadn’t seen his older brother in more than twenty years. She can’t organize her thoughts or piece it together. None of this makes sense. “How?” she whispers. She can’t - Tarrlok’s dead brother, waterbender, not dead, Amon, leading the anti-bending revolution. “What?”

“That’s how he takes bending,” Tarrlok says quietly. “We all wondered. He severs the central chi pathway by cutting off the blood flow, and by some other means of neural interference. I’m not sure of the exact mechanism.”

Korra stares, still unable to believe it. It feels like the floor is shifting underneath her feet. “Spirits,” she says again, as a plea, as sour, stomach-curdling dread wells up inside her. _No. No spirits. You have to deal with this alone, Korra, just like you dealt with Tarrlok._

Amon is a bloodbender. Amon is a better bloodbender than Tarrlok, and she hadn’t been able to overpower _Tarrlok’s_ bloodbending. “How can I beat him?” she asks, feeling helpless rage begin to mingle with the dread. “How am I supposed to take him down?”

“I don’t know.” Tarrlok looks utterly miserable; the lines on his face and the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. “He may masquerade as a non-bender, but I think he subtly uses his waterbending and bloodbending to his advantage, in combat. Do you remember the time you were telling me about, in the pro-bending arena? You had waterbended–”

Korra nods, swallowing over her dry throat. “He looked at me, and the cyclone just collapsed underneath me. I wondered about that, for a while. It wasn’t anything that I did.” She takes a deep breath, trying to center herself. “Who else knows? That the firebender-killing-his-parents thing is a lie?” Asami had never mentioned this, which meant her dad hadn’t known. And he had been in Amon’s innermost circle. _Noatak._ Noatak. How could that monster Amon be anything like Tarrlok?

_You’re just as bad as Amon!_

Korra has to bite back a bitter, inappropriate laugh. _Oh, the irony._

“Nobody else knows the truth,” Tarrlok says, beginning to pace restlessly. “Nobody. Noatak goes to great lengths to keep his identity a secret. He even paints scars on his face, so unmasking him will do you no good. He also has a pair of yellowish lenses for his eyes, though he doesn’t wear them all the time.”

Korra takes a moment, letting it sink in. Finally, the beginning of an idea comes to her. “Right.” She narrows her eyes at the small jail cell. “Okay, stand back. I’m going to get you out of here.”

The guard had only given her one key, and it doesn’t work on the heavy padlock attached to the bars. Trying to wrest it off does no good, to her frustration, and neither does picking the lock with a blade of ice bended from some of Tarrlok’s drinking water. “Damn it!” Korra yells, kicking the bars in anger. “I knew I should have learned how to metalbend!”

Tarrlok winces, gesturing at her to lower her voice, while keeping a wary eye on the door. “Korra, no, it’s fine.”

“Stand back,” she tells him, igniting huge twin flames in her palms. “I’m going to try burning through.”

“I doubt it will work.” There’s no clock here, and he glances anxiously at the bare walls. “Besides, there’s no time. You need to get to the stadium as soon as possible. Time is running out.”

Korra hesitates, looking back at the door. “I can’t just leave you here,” she argues.

“You have to,” Tarrlok insists, as stubbornly as ever. He tries to smile, for the first time since he had realized who she was. “You can come back for me later.”

He sounds like he’s trying to encourage both of them at the same time, and Korra extinguishes the flames. Her palms are still hot when she grabs his anorak, pulling him close, and kisses him through the bars. Tarrlok tenses up, surprised, and then clings to her, as if he would keep her safe. She has to fight to keep her breath steady, masking her fear at what is to come.

When they finally pull apart, Tarrlok smooths her hair back, with hands that shake slightly. “Be safe,” he tells her, and he blinks once, twice. “You’re very brave. Much braver than I ever was, or will be.”

She doesn’t know what to say. _Thanks, I’ll try not to kill the brother you once loved._ “Thank you.”

“I am so sorry for everything that I put you through.” Tarrlok meets her gaze, and then lowers his. “I never realized, until now…”

_Oh._ Suddenly, she understands. Korra takes his hand and squeezes it, hoping it will do something to dissolve the lump in her throat. A small shock runs through her, as she realizes that those hands no longer have the power, the ability, to bloodbend. And that they never will again. “It’s all in the past,” she tells him, trying to be reassuring.

Tarrlok doesn’t relax, not even a little bit. “You should go,” he says, but the look on his face says otherwise, and Korra prods his hand.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s just something that Noatak said.”

She can’t help but make a face. “Don’t listen to anything he says. He’s a liar, he’s totally nuts, and he hates me.”

Tarrlok averts his gaze. “…You have always cared for me, correct?” he asks stiffly, awkwardly. “Noatak - Noatak said that it was impossible, and that it was just a ruse to convince me to bring you back to Republic City.”

Shock freezes Korra to the ground, paralyzing her voice and face for a second. _From one liar and master manipulator to another_ , she thinks bitterly. _Of course._

She knows the truth. Maybe it would be better to be honest, and to try and explain it. But with Tarrlok looking at her like this… It would devastate him. He would never understand. 

Korra scoffs. “What? That’s insane. That’s, like, radio-soap-drama crazy.”

Tarrlok relaxes ever so slightly, the expression on his face softening, and she takes his hand again. “I love you,” she says quietly.

There is no trace of doubt or misgivings on his face. Only trust. This must be what Amon feels, every time he tells his story to a bunch of new recruits, and sees the look of mingled horror and sympathy on their faces. “I love you, too,” Tarrlok says, letting go of her hand, after one last, gentle squeeze.

And Korra pulls on her mask and goggles and leaves, feeling his gaze follow her out the door. She closes it, and then she’s alone in the dark tunnel, left with the uncertainty that lies ahead.

-

_to be continued_

-


	17. Part Seventeen

Korra strides through the maze-like network of tunnels, head high, eyes wide open, without quite seeing where she is going. She isn’t sure how she gets back to the pre-determined meeting place that she and her friends had decided on. All she knows is that she gets back to the trolley stop, and she can’t recognize Mako, Asami, and Bolin in the crowds of Equalists standing near the tracks, waiting for the coming trolley.

At least, not until she accidentally bumps into this guy, and he coughs and whispers, “Meatballs.” There are two people standing next to the person that had spoken, and a quick glance confirms that all three of them have a few white strands of fur clinging to their slick black uniforms.

Korra’s shoulders sag in relief, and she stops. “Hey,” she whispers. “It’s me.”

“Good,” Bolin sighs. “The last couple of girls I tried that on looked at me like I was crazy. Not like I could really see their faces, what with the…” - he waves his hand in front of the mask and green goggles - “But still. I knew.”

“Find anything?” Mako mutters, his voice barely audible. “We didn’t.” Asami shakes her head, checks her watch, and then peers anxiously down the tunnel, in search of the trolley. 

“Yeah.” Korra shifts from foot to foot, her shoulders tensing up, as soon as she sees the approaching trolley lights. 

Bolin looks back toward the tunnels. “Should we go back, then? Do we need to…?” He mouths the words ‘bust anyone out.' 

“No,” Korra says tersely. “I’ll explain in a second. Hang on.”

They board the trolley alongside the real Equalists, and stand in a corner, a heavy, awkward silence falling over them. Korra cranes her neck and tries to read Asami’s watch. Her chest is tight with strain, and she feels dangerously close to vomiting up the trail mix she had stuffed down her face this morning, on the way here. They have thirty minutes until they have to be at the arena…and break the councilmembers out of the grasp of more than a hundred armed and dangerous Equalists, not to mention the most powerful bloodbender alive. 

At first, she had hoped that maybe, they would have a chance at getting to the arena early, and rescuing Tenzin and Lin and the others before the event even started. But the trolley had taken forever to get there, and the ride is longer than she had remembered. It looks like they’re going to have to snatch the prisoners right off the stage, just like she and Mako had done with Bolin at the Revelation. Except that this is much, much bigger.

Finally, the trolley grinds to a halt. They push to the front as discreetly as they can, disembarking first. The second they’re off, Korra opens her mouth, but Mako puts a warning hand on her arm, nodding to the group of real Equalists right behind them.

“Let’s take this way to the arena,” Bolin says, too quietly for the others to hear, pointing down an empty side street. “It’s faster.”

They turn right, and thankfully, the group of Equalists stays on the main road. Mako keeps glancing backward, and finally, he nods, giving them the thumbs-up.

Asami slides her goggles up to her forehead, and the worry is clear in her eyes. “Korra, what’s up?" 

"I couldn’t find Amon’s office, but I found Tarrlok’s cell.”

Mako and Bolin both stop dead and stare, and Asami gasps. “What? But I looked down that tunnel, and he wasn’t there–”

“They just moved him in this morning. Amon was keeping him at someplace outside of Republic City, but I guess they wanted to free that up for more dangerous prisoners. Like me.” Korra reaches up, rubbing the back of her neck, trying to loosen the tight muscles, and then cracks her knuckles. If she’s going to fight, she has to be prepared. “Tarrlok…" 

She hesitates, realizing that in a few moments, her friends are going to be seriously questioning her sanity. "Tarrlok told me something important about Amon. About how he takes bending. About who he is.”

Her friends exchange nonplussed looks. “What, like his real name?” Bolin says, puzzled. 

“Is that going to help us take him down?" 

Korra keeps her eyes forward, and doesn’t slow her pace. The roof of the pro-bending stadium is starting to come into view. "Amon isn’t who she says he is,” she replies bluntly. “He isn’t a non-bender. And he _definitely_ isn’t taking people’s bending because the spirits gave him the power to.” The rage overwhelms her, in that second, and she kicks a fallen trash can out of their way viciously. “Fucking liar!”

“Amon is a _bender_?” Asami asks incredulously. “But…he hates benders! All of them! Is Tarrlok sure–”

Korra spins around to face them, and they stop, startled, as she yanks her goggles down, so that they hang limply around her neck. It’s almost impossible to keep her voice down, to keep from yelling the disgusting truth to the rooftops, and the struggle makes her voice crack. “Amon is a waterbender. A _bloodbender_. That’s how he takes bending. That’s how he beat Tarrlok, don’t you see? Who could beat a bloodbender, but another one?”

Asami’s mouth opens, but no words come out. “The arena,” Mako says, after a few moments of terrible silence. “You…you waterbended yourself up there. And he looked at you, and you just fell. I’ve never seen you make a mistake with bending before. I always thought it was weird.”

“How could he hide it, all this time?” Asami whispers, horrified. “It’s been years… Why would he even…?”

Bolin leans against the filthy gutter pipe of a nearby store, looking like he’s close to fainting. “We’re going up against a bloodbender? I didn’t know there were _more_ of them, besides Tarrlok, just running around everywhere!”

Korra laughs bitterly. “Amon is Tarrlok’s brother. Tarrlok didn’t even know that, until he lost his bending.”

Mako shudders. “This is getting unbelievably weird. How did this guy get elected into office again? Yakone as a dad, Amon as a brother–”

“Tarrlok never told anyone, obviously.” Korra turns and starts walking again, and her friends follow, but they’re all moving slower than they were before. “While we were in the Earth Kingdom, he told me that he had a brother, once. An older brother named Noatak. Noatak ran away from home when he was fifteen, in this blizzard, and Yakone and Tarrlok never found him. They just assumed he had died.”

“A bender…who pretends to be a non-bender, and hates all benders…and says that there’s no place for benders in this world…and wants to get rid of bending forever.” Bolin shrugs helplessly. “I don’t get it! Why would he hate bending, if he’s a bender? That would be like hating himself! And he’s using bending - which he thinks is the worst - to get rid of other people’s bending! This is so stupid!”

“If my dad knew… If Lieu and everyone else knew that everything has been a huge lie…” Asami trails off. “Korra! Is that what we’re going to do? Are we going to tell everyone the truth?”

The pro-bending stadium is within sight now, and Korra stops, gesturing for them to do so as well. They huddle in the shadows of a tree, pulling their masks and goggles on again. All of them are breathing fast. “I can’t just blurt it out and expect everyone to believe me,” she says, in an undertone. “Amon is going to say I’m lying. Everyone is going to think that I’m insane.”

“If he’s not Amon, then he won’t have scars on his face! If we show them–”

Korra shakes her head, in response to Mako’s suggestion. “Tarrlok says he paints them on, just in case. You’re right, though. We are going to show them, just in a different way. If I can get him to reveal himself as a bloodbender, who was lying about his whole 'the spirits sent me to restore balance to the world through getting rid of bending,’ thing, the crowd is going to go crazy. That’s going to give us our in to free Tenzin and everyone else, and get out of there.”

“Genius,” Bolin says fervently. 

Mako nods in agreement, and Asami checks her watch again, before looking at the entrance to the pro-bending arena. “Tell us exactly what you need us to do, and we’ll do it." 

Their faith in her hastily thought-out plan gives her some confidence, and Korra smiles. It feels good to have a team, and she can’t imagine the fact that so many Avatars throughout history had worked alone. "Thanks. I’ll do the talking to Amon - Noatak. When it comes to fighting him, and getting him to reveal himself as a bloodbender, me and Mako will handle that. While we’re doing that, I want you guys to free Tenzin and the others. They’ll probably be tied up like Bolin was, at the Revelation." 

Asami taps the toe of her knee-high boot against the ground, where they all know she hides her knives. "No problem.”

“How are we on time?”

“We have five minutes.”

“Let’s go in.” Korra hesitates, and then turns back to them, reaching a hand out. She will not think of any one of the many things that can go wrong, or of the fact that Amon-Noatak, like Tarrlok and Yakone, can bloodbend multiple people at once. She will not think of the vengeful streak that runs through both of Yakone’s living sons, and how both of them can be frightening and deadly when crossed. She will not think of how she might lose them, or how much danger they are putting themselves in, just by being here, at her side.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

Bolin puts his hand on hers, and then Mako and Asami. “Thank you,” Mako corrects. “For coming back to us." 

-

The pro-bending arena is packed. She had once thought that the Revelation had been frighteningly full of non-benders who held some kind of anti-bending sentiment - but that had been nothing, compared to this. Korra feels bile rise in her chest, as she, Mako, Bolin, and Asami push their way through the crowd, toward the staircase leading to the balcony. The only balcony seating area still open, on the left side of the stadium.

There are so many people here, some laughing and chatting, like this is some casual event, some looking serious, and some eager. The sight makes her stomach sink like a stone. Even if she does take down Amon today, and expose him as a liar and a fraud, it doesn’t change the fact that a huge part of the city’s population has anti-bender sentiment, and believes in Amon’s ideals. Throwing them in jail, like Tarrlok would want to, isn’t the answer. It’s going to take a lot of work to change the city, and reform the practices that had sowed so much anger and dissension among the non-benders of Republic City.

They finally reach the balcony viewing area, and Mako closes and locks the door behind them, making sure nobody will be able to follow. Korra stands near the railing, trying not to stare at all the people below. Trying to take deep breaths, and not lose her composure. 

_This is why I came back. I need to do something to restore balance to Republic City, and keep Amon from eradicating the city of benders. This is my purpose–_

_But I’m scared. I want to go home. I want to go to back to Mom and Dad…_

_Our showdown, while inevitable, is premature. Although it would be the simplest thing for me to take away your bending right now, I won’t. You’d only become a martyr. Benders of every nation would rally behind your untimely demise, but I assure you, I have a plan. And I’m saving you for last, then you’ll get your duel, and I will destroy you._

Korra closes her eyes, exhaling slowly. This is the day. This is the day of their final showdown. But she won’t be destroyed. 

Still, she’s afraid. Her stomach hurts, and her skin is slick with cold sweat, underneath the Equalist uniform. She’s never been this scared in her life, and it is the worst feeling ever. She’s been in a lot of fights, she’s no stranger to combat, but no situation - except for her fight with Tarrlok in his office - has had so much riding on it. 

And she has to perform. She has to be brave, and prove herself as worthy of being the Avatar.

All of a sudden, the lights in the arena dim, except for the ones on the main stage. A low, excited murmur ripples through the crowd beneath them, before a hush falls over the arena. Korra’s fingers tighten on the railing, and on either side of her, she can feel Asami and Bolin tense up.

When the platform rises into view, Amon with it - dressed in dark clothes, both hands clasped behind his back, features (like Tarrlok’s and hers? Dark brown skin and blue eyes?) obscured by that eerie cream-and-red mask… It’s the first time she’s seen him, actually seen him, in more than nine months. He is her nightmares made flesh, and Korra’s skin crawls with the knowledge of the power he really holds in his hands, but she won’t look away.

When he starts to speak, she can’t help but listen to see if there is any trace of Tarrlok’s voice (familiar, comforting, irritating, and even beloved) in Amon’s. He opens, as always, with his pathetic story, the falsehood that he had used to ingratiate himself with supporters like Hiroshi Sato, to make himself seem like one of them. _When I was a boy, a firebender struck down my entire family and left me scarred. That tragic event began my quest to equalize the world._

_You lie._ Korra has to bite her tongue to hold it back. If only it were that easy…

She has to listen to another several minutes of him gloating, before he steps forward, to the center of the stage. "And now,” Amon-Noatak says, his voice dripping smugness and victory, “…The main event. Today is the dawn of the new era, the one that we have waited for for decades, if not centuries. Today, we cast out the old, once and for all, and embrace the new world order.”

With that, another, smaller, platform behind him begins to rise, the harsh glare of the spotlights throwing the sight into sharp relief. Though they had all been expecting it, the breath leaves Korra’s body at the sight of Tenzin, Lin, and the other councilmembers. Each of them are tied to a pole on stage, bound at the arm and leg and waist, gags stuffed into their mouth, and blindfolds around their eyes. 

“Oh, no,” Bolin whispers, pointing at the representatives from the Fire Nation and the Southern Water Tribe - both of them older than Tenzin and Lin by ten years, at least, and both looking so very frail. “They’re old! This - this is…”

“This is an injustice!”

Korra’s voice echoes around the arena, loud and clear, effortlessly cutting across Amon’s. He stops, looking up at their dimly-lit balcony, and whispers break out among the crowd. Amon’s guards move from the sides of the stage toward the center, flanking him, but there’s nothing they can do, from down there.

“This is insanity!” Korra yells, before Amon has a chance to say anything, to cut her off. “Non-benders of Republic City, the struggles you face are real and need a solution, but this is not it. What Amon is talking about is dangerous! He wants to get rid of an entire population of people, just because they were born with a certain trait!" 

She flounders for a second, unsure of where to go, but plunges on, raising her voice even more, to make sure that she can even be heard over the crowd. "Saying that there’s no room in society for benders, and that we need to stamp them out, is unacceptable! What’s next? Saying that there’s no room in society for blind people, or people who aren’t smart enough to work at high-paying jobs?" 

"There has never been a time in history where benders have even suggested the elimination of non-benders!” Asami calls, her voice just as strong as Korra’s. “The solution is to work toward equality peacefully! Non-benders of Republic City, is this the world where you want to live in? Is this where you want your children to grow up? In a place where equality is brought about through pain and force, instead of cooperation, unity, and respect? The violence of this…this forced equality will only engender more violence, hatred, and misery, among the people of this city!”

The crowd is making noise, but it’s not booing or jeering, not that she can hear. Emboldened, Korra pulls her mask and goggles off her face, flinging them to the floor, and facing the stage. “Amon, listen to us! It’s not too late, yet. Just let them go, just stop this, and work with me to find a reasonable solution to the problem–”

“More meaningless words from the bending establishment, after decades of the same. But it’s so sweet, Avatar,” Amon says, his voice dripping poison. “You’ve come to share your mentor’s fate.” He turns, ever so slightly, to his guards. “Seize her.”

“Now!” Korra shouts. She grabs Mako’s arm, and he reads her mind, using his firebending to jump from the balcony to the wall. The arena tilts wildly as they sprint across the wall, and she’s vaguely aware of Bolin and Asami swinging overhead, via the metalbending cable that Bolin had stuffed in his pocket before they left the shelter of the tunnel this morning. 

The four of them hit the stage, and everything is chaos. The guards are running toward them, lightning sticks charged. Without thinking, Korra ignites fire in her palms, as much as she can summon, sweeping it toward them - and to avoid it, they dive off the stage. 

“Go!” she yells, looking wildly around at Asami and Bolin. They’re already yanking the prisoners’ blindfolds off, frantically sawing and tugging at the lengths of rope that bind them. More guards run from backstage, and Asami throws the knife back to Bolin, charging at the nearest few guards–

Amon advances on her and Mako, and her throat dry as sandpaper, Korra looks over at Mako. Understanding, he runs not at Amon, but around him, seemingly toward the doorway where the guards are coming from, to help Bolin hold them off. A chill goes down Korra’s spine as she glimpses Mako halt and stumble, for no reason whatsoever. Bolin freezes in the middle of a tussle with a guard very strangely, letting the guard slam a fist into his stomach so hard that he falls to the floor. 

It had just lasted a second, enough not to immediately arouse suspicion among the people in the crowd. Nobody would even notice unless they had been really looking for it… But that’s going to change. That’s going to change very soon.

Out of the corner of her eye, Korra sees the one thing that she had been counting on: the reflection of the dark water, shimmering on the concrete walls. Someone, either the police or the Equalists, had closed off most of the pool that she and the Fire Ferrets had fallen into, and forced other teams into, a dozen times… 

Most of the pool. But there’s still enough to do what she needs to.

Amon sprints toward her, closing the distance between them, but it’s not at him that Korra looks at. It’s at Mako, behind Amon, whirling to face his back. In that instant, she exhales, and makes the same rapid, sweeping movement with her hands as Tarrlok had, on the night of their battle at his office. 

The water streams out of the pool, transforming itself into sixty sharp, impossibly fast-moving daggers of ice, in one second. They fly toward Amon’s face and body, in the same second the wall of fire that Mako breathes flies toward his back, wrapping around his sides, so that there is no possible way for him to dodge–

The crowd is screaming, and Korra stumbles backwards. Time slows to a stop, and she can’t breathe, and it has nothing to do with the smoke billowing from the blazing velvet curtains and Equalist banners. Will he?

She sees his eyes widen, behind the mask. There is fear and panic there, just like the fear he had instilled in all the benders of Republic City, and Korra has time for a moment of vindictive pleasure before Amon strikes, as quick as a lion-snake, too fast for the eye to see. One sharp, circular movement of his arm, and the ice daggers dissolve, forming a stream of water that flies around to his back, colliding with the fire, making it explode into so much steam.

For two breaths, an eerie hush falls over the entire stadium. Korra catches a fleeting glimpse of Tenzin, Lin, and the councilmembers shaking loose their bindings, as Bolin and Asami grab them, guiding them to the door in the back, and getting them off the stage. 

Slowly, very slowly, Amon turns to her, and Korra’s blood runs cold. Their eyes meet, blue to blue, and bizarrely, she has never been so aware of their shared heritage. It’s like she _is_ him, in that moment. She feels his all-consuming rage, and–

Mako slams into his back, knocking him to the floor. “No!” Korra screams, and she lunges forward, grabbing his shoulder, wrenching him up and free of Amon. They run through the smoke still billowing from the curtains, trying not to trip on the guards’ unconscious bodies and the discarded gags and rope, and they’re through the door. Korra can hear Amon’s footsteps just behind them.

She slams the door behind them, once they’re out into the hallway, throwing her body against it. “Go,” she pants, looking at Mako. “Get out of here. Find the others. I’ll hold him off, I don’t want him coming after everyone else.”

“No way!” he snaps. “There is no way I am leaving you alone with him. He’s seriously angry, and Korra–”

She shrieks, toppling forward, as Amon’s foot slams into the door, kicking a hole in the wood. Mako’s hand closes around her arm, and both of them start to sprint, even faster than they had before, through the deserted hallways of the pro-bending arena. 

“Where should we–” Korra pants, and Mako changes direction suddenly, pushing open the first door he sees.

It’s one of the practice rooms. Actually, it’s the same one that she, Mako, and Bolin used to practice in, so long ago, laughing and joking together between drills. For one stupid second, Korra feels the sting of tears behind her eyes. It was so long ago, when the most serious of their worries was whether they stood a chance of getting to the pro-bending finals, and Tahno and the Wolfbats were their only real, personal enemies. And now…

“Korra, what are you doing?” Mako asks, keeping his eyes on the door and backing up, settling into a fighting stance. His hands are steady, curled into fists that are ready to strike, but his voice betrays the strain and fright. “Get into one of the supply closets. Maybe I can convince him that we split up, and that you headed in a different direction.”

“No way.”

Mako glances over at her, evidently surprised by the steely disagreement, and Korra shakes her head wordlessly, her fingers curled into fists. The fear is gone, now, replaced by something colder and harder. It’s time for her to face this, and put an end to it, once and for all. For close to a year, ever since their confrontation on Air Temple Island, Amon has haunted her mind like a dark specter. Like her own personal demon. The constant nightmares, the flashbacks, the panic attacks. The fear. _I will destroy you._

The fear of him harming her family and friends. _I’m saving you for last._ The fear of walking down a street and being ambushed, or returning to Air Temple Island to find…

Korra swallows over the tightness in her throat. “No. I’m not hiding. I’ve waited for this day for a long time.”

Mako hesitates, visibly worried. He looks like he’s going to argue, but something in her face changes his mind, and finally, he nods. “Fine. If you’re going to fight, I’m going to fight with you." 

The slow, deliberate sound of heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway cuts him off. They freeze, and exchange a look, and - if _I’m going to die, I’m glad that I won’t be alone_ \- and it’s not the smartest thing to do, but Korra closes her eyes for a second, bracing herself. Calling upon the strength and courage of all the Avatars before her.

She opens her eyes to Amon-Noatak standing in the doorway. His face is still covered by the mask, but she can feel the fury radiating off him, as it had earlier. "Avatar,” he says, softly, coldly, every syllable laced with a loathing that hadn’t been present before. “It appears that we won’t have an audience after all, but that does not reduce the satisfaction of what I’m going to do to you.”

Korra’s face tingles with the heat of the flames that Mako blasts toward him. Amon dodges them easily, his eyes still trained on her. Unexpectedly, Korra bursts into laughter, loud and bitter and mocking. “ _We don’t have an audience_?” she repeats, in an overly-deliberate, exaggerated mimicry of his deep voice. “That’s funny, Noatak. More like, you had to run out on your audience, after we freed your hostages and - oh, yeah! Exposed you as the hugest liar and fraud _ever_.”

Amon’s fingers flex, and she can see him shift from one foot to another, like he’s getting ready to strike. “You think that’s funny, don’t you, Avatar? You’re so very sophisticated. So mature.”

Beside her, Mako suddenly doubles over, clutching his stomach. 

“Your friend thinks it’s funny too,” Amon says conversationally. Mako staggers forward a few steps, still bent double, his mouth open, but no sound coming out, in a cruel parody of laughter. His eyes are wide and panic-stricken, and he’s clawing at his chest and stomach, and–

The square-shaped, ninety-pound earth disc that Korra sends flying at Amon nearly decapitates him. He leaps to the side, and Mako collapses to the floor, unmoving but breathing. Korra stares at Amon through narrowed eyes, her shoulders heaving. “Stay away from him,” she says, and her voice doesn’t even sound like her own. 

She takes a few steps backward, forcing herself to shrug nonchalantly, and make the same dismissive hand gesture that she had shown to the Triple Threat Triad, so long ago. “Come on. You’re going to preach about the evils of bending, and the unfair advantage that it gives benders over innocent non-benders, and then use it in your fighting? _Bullshit._ You posed as a non-bender for so long. Are you enough of a man to fight me without your bending?”

Amon doesn’t move, and Korra smirks. “Thought so, hypocrite.”

He flies at her with a snarl, moving across the floor with the impossible speed and agility of an airbender, and Korra slams her fist into his mask, with all the strength she possesses. The ceramic shatters, cutting her hand, cutting his face. He spits out blood and a few broken teeth, glaring at her with eyes so unlike Tarrlok’s, before grabbing her arm and twisting it mercilessly. He drives ruthless fingers into a pressure point in her spine, sending lancing, white-hot spirals of pain throughout her body.

Korra lashes out with a kick, knocking him off balance, sending him staggering away. “So, finally, I get a look at the guy who thought it would be cool to suggest wiping a certain type of people off the planet forever–” A knifehand strike, to the back of his neck. “The guy who thought it would be okay to threaten another human being, someone more than twenty years younger than them, and their family and friends too…" 

Another kick, catching him in the chest. "The guy who had a plan to kidnap an innocent woman, three children, and a _baby_ , before Tenzin sent them away. And who planned to bomb this entire city with airplanes, and destroy the streets with mecha-tanks, rather than just work with me and the government to come to a nonviolent solution.”

Korra dodges the punches he throws at her, and sneers at him, before catching him with another right hook to the face. He stumbles backward, hitting the padded wall, and she leans close. “You’re human slime, Amon. I’m looking forward to working with the non-benders of this city to find solutions to their problems, and I’m even more glad that you’ll be rotting in prison while we do that.”

Amon stares at her, bare face livid with hatred. Korra has enough time for one moment of futile resistance before a vice-like grip squeezes her heart, in one violent convulsion. She collapses to her knees, hearing them crack audibly. She can’t breathe. She can’t _breathe_ , and her terror is absolute. Her ribs feel like there’s something heavy sitting on them, and she can feel them creaking with the strain. _No,_ she thinks, flashing back to what Aang had shown her, so many months ago. Yakone, bloodbending Aang, holding him above the ground, trying to break his neck…

Her neck snaps back with awful speed, leaving her neck exposed, and her face tilted up to Amon. To Noatak. The scream building in her throat has no way of getting out, and she can’t even blink. Her wide eyes twitch desperately. _No, no, no, no._ This can’t happen. After everything she has been through, this can’t happen.

_After I take your bending away, you will be nothing._

“Do you really think,” Amon asks quietly, “that I will let you do to me, what Aang did to my father?”

She has never tried as hard to break the grip of bloodbending, as she is now. Not even with Tarrlok.

Amon leans over her. “They say…” His voice is so quiet, now, that Korra can barely hear it over the terrified thud-thud-thud of her heart. “They say that the old Avatars live on in the new. Aang…”

She doesn’t even have time to hope that Mako, Asami, and Bolin’s theory had been right, and that de-bending won’t work on an Avatar.

And the pain is unlike anything she has ever experienced before.

It’s blinding. It’s _severing_ , like he had reached into her brain and laid it bare and slashed through it, from end to end, with a hot, sharp knife. Before Korra even hits the floor facefirst, she knows that it’s over. That it’s gone. 

_I told you I would destroy you._ Amon’s voice, disembodied, floats from above. 

No. _No no no no._ She’s a child, clinging to her mother’s dress, on the morning the Order of the White Lotus had come to take her away. Crying and blasting fire, except–

No no no.

Fingers close around her upper arm, harshly wrenching her upward. Her muscles feel like they’ve been gnawed on by an eel-shark, but Korra fights, trying to push his arm away, to get him _away_ from her. Amon just tightens his grip on her, dragging her forward on her unsteady legs, and she almost collapses. “Move,” he orders, pulling her past Mako, despite her best efforts to dig in her heels and stay with him. 

Her chest still hurts too much to talk much, to swear and scream and rage like she wants. Her mouth tastes of blood. Maybe she had bitten her tongue when he had taken her bending. Maybe the bloodbending had made her spit up blood, like it had when Tarrlok had done the same thing to her, months ago. 

“No,” Korra manages, trying to pull away and go back to Mako, still lying motionless on the ground. Her vision fades black, and then returns to normal when she blinks. “No. Let go of me, you _monster_.”

Amon ignores her, jerking her forward, like a dog on a lead, out of the practice room and into the hallway. _Naga,_ Korra thinks, with a pang. _Sitka. You’ll still love me–_

A muscle in Amon’s jaw is jumping, and there are faint tremors running through his shoulders. “Taking you as a hostage worked well enough for my brother. You’re worthless without your bending, but Beifong has a sentimental attachment to you, nevertheless. You learned to cooperate with Tarrlok well enough,” Amon mutters, almost to himself. “Maybe I’ll have similar luck.”

Korra stops dead, and briefly, everything fades to the background. The pain in her muscles. The bruises - the rapidly-forming black eye that Amon had given her, and terrible ache in her head, the indescribable, disgusting sense of loss inside her…

Amon yanks on her arm again, enough to make her shoulder feel like it’s going to part company with its socket. Korra lunges forward, and she isn’t even conscious of what she’s doing, just that her hands slam into him, and then fasten themselves around his throat, squeezing and twisting. “Nobody,” she breathes, bringing her face close to his, and she shoves him hard, pushing him backward– “Is ever going to take my freedom away from me again. Nobody is _ever_ going to make me powerless again. Do you hear me?”

She’s shouting, her voice cracking, and Korra slams Amon against the large window as hard as she can, driving her elbow into his neck and slamming her knee up into his groin.

All the breath leaves Amon’s body in an agonized, ragged gasp - but then, his eyes widen and his gaze goes upward, and so does Korra’s.

Too late, she sees the glass blossoming with thin, spiderweb cracks. She tries to let go, to stagger backwards, but Amon grabs her, his face twisted with hatred.

The glass explodes, in a loud, sickening cacophony, and they’re falling. Korra has a brief, dizzying view of the ocean, beneath them, and the sound of people screaming…

The moment of impact is stunning and painful, driving all the breath from her body. 

Her eyes sting from the salt water when she opens them, and Korra gasps for breath. Her mouth and lungs fill up with water–

It’s only then that it really hits her, and the terror is all-consuming. She’s surrounded by water, water to either side of her, beneath her, on top of her, and for the first time, she doesn’t feel at home. The water around her doesn’t respond to her touch, to her panicked flails - as it has, for as long as she can even remember. The ocean used to be her home, an environment that was almost natural. Now it feels alien. Hostile. 

With all of her depleted, failing strength, Korra tries to strike out, to swim away from Amon. One of his hands closes around her throat, dragging her back, and she doesn’t even have enough time to think _why?_ before he moves his hands, and they’re sinking. They’re sinking fast, into the depths of the ocean, away from life-giving air. 

She’s coughing and spluttering, her eyes on fire. She can barely see him, as she fights, kicking and lashing out as best as she can, clawing and punching. All she can see is the loathing - truly merciless hatred - in his eyes. 

This is going to be his revenge. For exposing him for what he is, he’s going to do this. Kill her, in her own natural element - what _had_ been her natural element. The first element she had learned how to bend. It’s the ultimate irony. 

Her head aches, and her chest, and her muscles and head and _everything_ , from trying to fight. She can’t go without air for much longer, not with Amon’s hand tightening around her neck.

Korra closes her eyes, futilely trying to pry his hand away from her neck, to swim upward, away from his grip. He’s not speaking, but she hears his voice in her head, along with her own. Dark and horrible, and pervasive, sinking into every nerve and muscle and bone. _Why even fight this?_ If she dies now, the damage will be reversed, and a new Avatar, a better and _whole_ Avatar, can be born again. An Avatar that can’t bend - it’s impossible. It’s laughable. The whole reason that she even exists is to be the Avatar, and she can’t do that without her bending. She’s nothing without her bending, _nothing_ – 

If only she could have said goodbye to her mom and dad, to Tenzin and Lin and the kids. To her friends. _Tarrlok_ , Korra thinks, and she thinks she’s sobbing, now, sobbing without even being able to properly breathe. It hurts, but so does everything else. _You were right when you said I would have been safer in the Earth Kingdom. But I did the right thing, and that’s what matters._

And through the crushing pain in her head, inexplicably, she remembers the Earth Kingdom. She remembers Emi and Roumei. Fragments of celebrating her birthday with them, and picnics in the meadow, and tea at the bakery. Driving the Cabbage Car for the first time, and laughing. So much laughter.

They had loved her, even without her bending. Unbidden, Korra remembers the way Tarrlok would hug her every day when he came back from work, and how he would laugh as she picked him up and spun him around. 

The rest comes in flashes. Her parents, holding her tight, when they had visited Republic City. Late nights with Mako, Asami, and Bolin, sitting on the beach on Air Temple Island–

_I can’t leave that behind._

They cared about her. Emi, Roumei, the other people she had met in the Earth Kingdom, Tarrlok, her mom, her dad, Mako, Asami, and Bolin. Not Korra-the-Avatar, but _Korra_ , the person. And Emi, Roumei, Asami, Pema… They were all non-benders, just like… like she is now. And they were alive, and _happy_. 

Korra opens her eyes, fighting for every increasingly shallow breath, with renewed desperation. _I am not giving up. I am not giving up_. She is going to _fight._

Amon looks down at her dispassionately, and tightens his grip, and everything goes black. 

-

Tarrlok paces from one end of his cell to the other, and back again, over and over again. Every few minutes, he stops near the wall, places his hands on the windowless cement, and looks toward where he thinks the pro-bending arena is. It’s no use, of course. 

He has never wished for a clock more. He paces, his heart in his throat, his hand in his pocket, clammy palm curled tightly around something small. 

He had come home from work one day, to find the house empty, Korra and Sitka both absent. This had been after the time he had been worried about her trying to run away, and before the time had been worried about her trying to…

There had been a hastily scribbled note left on the kitchen counter. _Gone swimming. Later, Korra._

He had shrugged his bag off, left it on the table, and slipped out, through the back door. The walk to the coast was a short one, and as soon as Tarrlok stepped out onto the sand, he saw them. Korra and Sitka were both dripping wet and covered with seaweed, trudging up from the water’s edge. Sitka had barked and run toward him, tail wagging frantically.

Korra followed at a slightly slower pace. He still remembers how he had protested, when she had flung her arms around him, paying no mind to his dry clothes and her wet ones, and hugged him tight. _Korra, can’t this wait?_

_No complaining, tigerbear, I got you a present._ Without further ado, she pulled it out of her pocket and held it out for him, cupped in the palm of her hand. 

The pearl was of medium size and slightly misshapen, but it shone, even in the cloudy, watered-down afternoon light. Korra beamed, and it was just as striking as the gem in her hand. _It’s for you. For luck, and stuff. Well, that’s what it means in the Southern Water Tribe, anyway._

Tarrlok had tried to refuse, insisting that she keep it, but Korra had tipped it into his palm anyway, with unusual gentleness. He had leaned down and kissed her, with no complaints about the cool saltwater on her lips, or the briny scent of the seaweed tangled in her hair. 

He had never imagined himself to be this sentimental, but he treasured the sole pearl more than any of the countless expensive purchases in his house in Republic City. He’d had it in his pocket on the day of the ill-fated attack on the Equalist base, and it had survived his transport to the prison outside of the city that Noatak had thrown him into.

He should have given it to Korra, before she had left. Strode out of his cell, head held high, to face the unknown.

Tarrlok’s fingers tighten around the pearl almost convulsively. And, outside of his cell, the key turns in the heavy iron door.

His heart skips a beat. He has just enough time to hope that the door will swing open and Korra will come charging in, followed by her friends, triumphantly announcing her victory–

When the door opens, it is Noatak that walks inside. Noatak, unmasked.

Tarrlok freezes, and his mind, normally so sharp and quick, struggles to comprehend it. _What does this mean? Where is Korra?_ The fear is building inside him, and it is dreadful.

“Noatak,” he says, and his voice doesn’t even sound like his own any longer. 

His brother won’t meet his gaze. He stares at his knees, instead. “It’s over, brother. I’m sorry for what I had to do to you.”

_It’s over._ What is that supposed to mean? Tarrlok should be asking these questions, he knows this. His throat is tight, and he thinks he already knows the answer, and he can’t bear it. 

Without waiting for a reply, Noatak moves forward, pulling a small key from his pocket. He unlocks the heavy padlock over the cell door, and then steps backward, pulling it wide open. It creaks, and Tarrlok stares uncomprehendingly. 

“Come,” Noatak says, like he’s commanding a dog. 

Tarrlok doesn’t move. Noatak’s nose looks like it has been broken. Finally, his brother speaks again, his voice barely audible. “Please. We have a second chance, now. We can start over, together.” He pauses. “Like we should have, so long ago.”

The words have an immediate, visceral effect on him, and it takes an effort to keep it from showing. All he had ever wanted, as a child, was to hear those words. He had _dreamed_ about it, in the months and years after Noatak left. He had dreamed of Noatak coming back, and saying this–

The eleven-year-old inside him wants to step forward, out of the cell. To walk beside his older brother, for the first time in more than twenty years, and not look back. 

Tarrlok doesn’t move. 

“Where is Korra?” he asks. 

Noatak won’t meet his eyes. It’s as if he hadn’t heard him. Tarrlok repeats the question, his voice louder and stronger than he had expected, and Noatak almost flinches. “Where is Korra?”

For a few seconds, there is nothing but silence. “Dead,” Noatak says, at last, and the word has a heavy, terrible finality. “Drowned, in Yue Bay.”

The words don’t compute. _Dead._ Not Korra, so overwhelmingly full of irrepressible vitality. _Drowned, in Yue Bay._ Tarrlok almost laughs. Not the girl who had been as home in the water as she was on land. The ocean was her playground. 

_Not without her waterbending._

Tarrlok closes her eyes against the voice. 

_Not if a waterbender had dragged her beneath the surface and held her there._

“You killed her.”

Noatak doesn’t blink. He doesn’t deny it. He actually spreads his arms placatingly, palms upward. “Tarrlok, the Avatar is gone. There is nothing for you here. Without her to protect you, you’ll spend the rest of your life in jail, if not worse–”

It’s the sight of Noatak’s hands that does it. The same hands that had used bloodbending against Yakone, against _him_ , that had taken his bending, and so many others’ - the hands that had killed Korra - the hands that had indirectly killed their mother, as surely as if Noatak had opened her mouth and force-fed her the poison himself.

Tarrlok stumbles forward, and he sees Noatak’s eyes widen, before his hands close around his throat, twisting and squeezing mercilessly. Despite the difference in height, despite the difference in strength, he’s shaking Noatak like a rag doll, and once again, when he opens his mouth, it’s the child that speaks. “You - ruin - everything! You _killed_ her!”

Noatak chokes, and Tarrlok tightens his grip, and the words that come out of his mouth aren’t even coherent. _Mother, murderer, monster–_

He doesn’t see Noatak’s hands move. All he knows is that one moment, he’s on the ground, and the next, sickeningly, he flies off it, and goes hurtling back–

Tarrlok hits the bars, and he hears something crack. He collapses to the floor, and when he reaches up to touch his head, his hand comes back wet with blood.

His vision is blurred, going dark at the edges. He can’t even see Noatak’s features clearly. His voice sounds like it is coming from very far away. 

_You’re still a fool._

Footsteps on the ground. The door slamming shut.

He can’t keep his eyes open any longer. 

Tarrlok’s last thoughts are of his mother, and of Korra, before he closes his eyes, and the darkness consumes him. 

-

_to be continued_

_-_


	18. Part Eighteen

Korra opens her eyes, fighting for every increasingly shallow breath, with renewed desperation. The seawater makes her eyes burn, and her chest is spasming, begging for air, even as her body gags and rebels against the gulps of saltwater she had swallowed. _I am not giving up. I am not giving up_. She is going to _fight._  

Amon looks down at her dispassionately, and tightens his grip, and everything goes black. 

Her eyes are open and she can’t see, and it is terrifying. For a second, all Korra can think is, _This is the end._ This is it. Everything that her life has been is going to be snuffed out here and now, in the dark, silent depths of Yue Bay. So far from home. There are tears on her cheeks.

And then she sees it, etched on the inside of her eyelids, closer and clearer than she has ever seen anything before. It’s Avatar Aang, standing on top of a mountain, his glider planted in the ground beside him. His eyes are wide open, glowing with the ethereal blue of the Avatar State. The image flickers and blurs, and then she sees Avatar Roku, Avatar Kyoshi, Kuruk, even Avatar Rei, who had lived more than five hundred years ago. They look tall and brave and strong, all of their eyes alight with the Avatar State. 

A voice just as familiar as her own echoes in her mind. It’s a distant memory of Avatar Rei’s, from the last time she had been called to the Spirit World. _Now be brave, young Avatar. Remember that you are not alone, that you will never be alone, and that we are all looking out for you. I know that you have the strength to face the challenges that lie ahead._

The words reverberate within her, the voice, the images. It takes a supreme amount of force - a force that feels greater than her own - but Korra forces her eyes open. They sting against the saltwater, but she sees Amon’s face twist in a scowl–

She lashes out with the very last of her strength, wildly, desperately, with more speed than she has ever managed before. Her fist slams against Amon’s nose, and she can hear the sickening crack even underwater. His nose starts billowing with blood, staining the dark water crimson. His fingers loosen around her throat, and the unexpected success gives her strength. Korra flails in the water, struggling to keep herself afloat, and though she can’t see well through the blood, she kicks out in the direction of his groin.

The strike connects, pushing him away from her. His hand releases the bruising grip around her neck, for the first time in what feels like forever. And Korra swims. Straight up, toward the surface, toward life-giving air, precious air, kicking furiously, her arms pulling through the water. Her head feels like it’s being crushed, and her muscles cry out with every stroke. This is the hardest thing she has ever forced her muscles to do. The pain is unbelievable, and with every movement, she begs and prays to the spirits and hopes, uselessly, that her waterbending will come back, that she can propel herself to the surface in an instant.

It’s no use. With every half-second that passes, Korra expects to feel Amon’s vice-like grip or his waterbending around her ankle, pulling her back to her death, or to feel the agony of his bloodbending. She wants to look back, to see where he is, but she can’t, she can’t. She’s too afraid.

She thinks of her mom and dad, instead. About how they’re going to hug her when this is all over. She thinks of Naga, and Katara, and Tenzin and his family. To the Water Tribe, family is everything. _Swim for them_ , Korra thinks, pulling through the water, trying to propel herself upward. She can’t see the light. 

For some reason, she remembers swimming lessons at the Order of the White Lotus compound, in a small heated pool in her training grounds. She had been four or five at the time, and the Order had let her parents come and watch her lessons. They had sat at the edge of the pool, encouraging her as she struggled through her first lap. Her dad had demonstrated the arm movements, and her mom had taught her how to kick.

She had taken to the water immediately, like most waterbending children, and had mastered swimming easily. _Come on,_ Korra wills herself, not looking back. _Faster, faster._

Images of her friends flit through her mind, just like the Avatars, her past lives, had. Mako, Bolin, Asami, Emi, Roumei. _Swim for them._

And lastly, Tarrlok, sitting in his cell. Even now, something twists inside her at the memory. He’s going to need her strength to help him get through this. 

Despite her best efforts, Korra feels her movements begin to slow, and it feels like she’s sinking, now, rather than moving upward. She wants to open her eyes, to see if she can see the light and the surface, but it hurts too much.

Hands close around her back, keeping her afloat, and another figure moves close, supporting her, helping her move upward. Avatar Kuruk is on one side of her, with his stupid polar bear-dog hat, and another Water Tribe Avatar is at the other - a lady with long braided hair and beautiful tribal tattoos that curl up her neck and over her left cheekbone. _It’s all right, Korra,_ they tell her. _You’ve fought so hard. It’s all right._

She is vaguely aware of them pulling her up, and up, and up, until they break the surface with a loud splash, and they’re holding her upright. Her neck lolls back, her face to the sunlight. Sunlight. Warm, bright sunlight. It feels so good that she wants to weep. Korra blinks, rubbing at her eyes as best as she can, wiping the water from her face. As her vision focuses again, she stares, taken aback. It’s not Avatar Kuruk and Avatar Kirima at all, but two waterbenders wearing police uniforms. They’re guiding her to shore, and more people are grabbing her, hauling her free from the water.

The movement, and the feeling of solid ground beneath her feet and sunlight beating down on her head, is too much to take. Korra starts choking, spitting up water and bile. The movement hurts her ribs, and over the hacking, repetitive sound, she hears a cacophony of voices all around her. “Amon,” she tries to say, but it’s nothing coherent, and it just makes the pain in her chest worse.

One voice cuts through all of them, much louder than the rest. “Lie her flat on the ground!” Lin orders. “And bend that water out of her chest right now!”

Hands press her to the ground, and Korra sees a flash of yellow and red. She looks up, with effort, to see Tenzin kneeling near her, stroking her wet hair. There are tears on his cheeks, his hands are shaking, and she has never seen him look this awful. She wants to say something, but the waterbenders choose that moment to start their work. They stand above her, moving their hands in a steady, repetitive motion that she had learned from Master Katara. _That’s my job,_ part of her wants to say. _What are you doing? I can do that for myself._ But all she can do is watch.

Someone takes her hand, and out of the corner of her eye, Korra catches a glimpse of Asami, Mako, and Bolin, crowded near her. Bolin and Asami are both crying, and Mako looks pale and drawn. “It’s going to be okay,” he says. “It’s going to be okay, Korra. Hang on. Please. Just hang in there.”

It feels like it takes an eternity for the waterbenders to flush the water from her lungs. When they do, Korra nods at them gratefully, struggling into a sitting position, supported by Tenzin’s hands on her upper arms. “Careful,” he urges, but she ignores him, pointing to the bay. 

“Amon,” she gasps. “Are you…”

“The waterbenders are searching Yue Bay,” Lin assures her. “Every waterbender in the force, and several volunteers, are patrolling the area.”

Instinct makes Korra try to get up, to jump to her feet. All she can manage is a feeble sort of wobble, and her friends grab her, keeping her steady. Lin looks down at her and shakes her head, and there’s an expression on her face that she’s never seen before - pity, or respect, or something. Maybe a little bit of both. “You’ve done enough, Korra,” she says quietly. “You…you saved all of us. And we will find Amon and bring him to justice. I promise you that.”

Korra nods, numb. Lin leans down and gives her an awkward pat on the shoulder before walking away, and then Tenzin hugs her, and Mako and Bolin and Asami too. Their voices, low and soothing, blend into one. _You’re all right. Thank the spirits. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m so glad you’re okay. You’re so brave, Korra. You were amazing._

Korra holds them as best as she can, and all the gratitude she feels, that they’re alive and unhurt, mixes with…emptiness. Numbness. It’s like half her heart has turned to stone. She’s sitting on the ground, a few feet from the water, and the water and the earth no longer speak to her. It’s just dead, empty silence, in that part of her that had once felt them. She tries to bring some heat to her palm, to warm Tenzin’s cold, clammy hands - he had jumped into the water, after he had seen her and Amon go under, but he hadn’t been able to swim far - but there is nothing.

Suddenly, unbidden, one of the last words Amon had spoken to her comes back. _Taking you as a hostage worked well enough for my brother._

He wants to make a run for it. And the last time Noatak had run away, he had…

Korra thinks of Tarrlok, back in his cell, at the Equalist base. She closes her eyes for a second, feeling icy resolve surge through her. Amon has taken enough from her. He won’t take Tarrlok too.

“Korra?”

Tenzin and her friends are looking at her, visibly worried. She nods, and this time, when she tries to stand, it works out okay. “Tenzin, Asami - I need to get to the Equalist base. Right now." 

-

There is nothing but darkness. Everything is completely, utterly still and quiet.

It makes the sudden sharp, stinging sensation across his face even more of a shock. It happens again, even worse this time, on the other side of his face. The agony is too much, and Tarrlok feels himself tremble; hears the soft, pained whine that tears itself free of his throat.

Something digs into his chest, shaking him fiercely. It hurts, and he fights to open his eyes. Everything is blurry at first, and it takes a few moments for his vision to focus. 

When it does, Korra’s face is the first thing he sees. She looks pale and drawn, her bottom lip split, and a massive bruise covering her left eye. Her neck is terribly bruised as well, purple and black staining the warm brown skin. 

Tarrlok feels something inside him break, all over again. _Is this how you died?_ The thought of what her last moments must have been like almost make him sick, but at least he’s here with her now. At least Korra hadn’t gone somewhere where he couldn’t reach her.

He opens his mouth to say her name, and then Korra throws herself on top of him in a tackle, hugging him so tightly that it drives the breath from his body. Her weight presses him into the hard wood floor, and she feels amazingly warm and solid. Everything feels so real, and Tarrlok hugs her back gingerly, trying to sit up, and struggling to move his sore arms. 

And out of the corner of his eye, through Korra’s disheveled hair, he sees the cell.

The cell.

The shock spreads through him faster than Korra’s slaps had, making Tarrlok go numb. _The cell_. The sickeningly familiar landscape - the hard stone floor, and the grey, windowless walls. 

This isn’t the Spirit World. This can’t be the Spirit World. He isn’t dead, and that means…

"Korra?” he asks, his voice coming out as a hoarse, disbelieving rasp, as he sinks back against the cell. “You’re - you’re alive?”

Korra lets go of him and pulls back, and she actually laughs a little. It sounds off, somehow. “Of course I’m alive,” she says. “You’re the one who gave me a scare." 

Her eyes are red and swollen, and her hand shakes slightly, as she puts it in his hair, against his scalp. Tarrlok pulls himself up into a sitting position, his head spinning. He can’t take it in. It’s dreamlike, almost, and he’s terrified that any second now, he’s going to wake up to Tenzin or someone else telling him that Avatar Korra is gone. 

When Korra withdraws her hand, it’s wet with blood. She curses under her breath, looking around the cell. "I need something to use as a bandage,” she says, her voice as tough and casual as ever.

In that second, he realizes, and something inside him plummets. Korra knows how to heal with her waterbending. She would never use a bandage. She would never need to.

“No,” Tarrlok says quietly. It comes out more like a plea, as so many things have, whenever he speaks to her. The rest sticks in his throat. _Please just tell me you’re tired._

Korra refuses to meet his gaze. She looks around his cell, and never looks at his pitcher of drinking water at all. Her hands curl into white-knuckled fists in her lap, and he takes one, careful of her bruised knuckles. She doesn’t move, remaining as still as a statue, and Tarrlok wraps his arms around her. 

He had never truly thought it was possible, and seeing this, seeing Korra lose her bending, is worse than when he had lost his own. It is impossible. She’s the Avatar, and her powerful, aggressive mastery of water, fire, and earth are as much of her as her bright blue eyes. _Were. Noatak,_ Tarrlok thinks, feeling the horror wash over him. _What have you done?_

Korra buries her head in his neck and sobs, echoing the sounds of his despair. Her cries are choked and barely audible, and she bites them back after a few seconds, shaking with the effort of doing so. Her heart beats against his own, fast and a little erratic.

Once, a long time ago, they had been the Avatar and the corrupt, bloodbending Councilman Tarrlok. _You and I are nothing alike!_ And now…

Tarrlok cups her face in both of his hands, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Korra’s shoulders shake, but she looks up at him anyway. “I’m so sorry,” he says to her. 

She inclines her head, and shrugs one of her shoulders in the way she does when she doesn’t know what to say. She takes his arm instead, helping him into a standing position. “Come on. Tenzin and the others are outside.”

The transition from sitting to standing makes him stagger, lightheaded. Catching a glimpse of the pool of blood on the floor, and feeling it trickle down his neck, don’t help either. Korra slips an arm around him, gently letting him lean against her, as she leads him to the door. Even at her lowest point, she has strength to spare.

Tenzin and her friends are waiting outside, a short distance down the hall. It is easier to focus on his own shuffling footsteps, and look at their feet, than risk glancing up. Being helped out of a cell, no longer one of the most powerful waterbenders in Republic City, clad in a worn, blood-stained anorak and pants, his hair loose and lank, Tarrlok has never before been so conscious of how far he has fallen. 

Something makes him look up anyway, for a brief moment. Mako meets his gaze for half a second, and then looks down, his expression inscrutable. Asami looks sympathetic, and without saying a word, Bolin comes to stand next to him, pulling his free arm over his shoulder. 

Tarrlok can barely look Tenzin in the eye. Not after abducting his ward, and being revealed as a bloodbender, the son of Yakone, the man who had almost killed Avatar Aang, and worse, the brother of the man who had done this to Korra and to so many other people–

Tenzin hands Korra a roll of bandages. “Let’s see to that as soon as we get on the trolley,” he says, as tiredly as Tarrlok feels. Tenzin glances at him, and to his surprise, there is no hatred or disgust on his face. Just compassion. 

Korra nods, and Mako takes the roll of bandages from her, ripping them off into usable sections. “Come on,” Tenzin says, then, breaking the heavy, awkward silence. “It’s been…it’s been a long day. Let’s get Naga and Sitka, and get back to Air Temple Island." 

-

As soon as they return to Air Temple Island, all Korra wants to do is lie on the floor of the courtyard with Naga. _Infirmary,_ Tenzin insists. _Infirmary, right now. Now, Korra._ He shepherds both her and Tarrlok up to the infirmary, and installs her in one room, putting Tarrlok across the hall.

He goes into Tarrlok’s room to check on his head wound and change his bandages, leaving Korra standing in the middle of her own disturbingly sterile infirmary room, staring at the wall. Bolin runs off to her and Asami’s room to bring her her sleeping clothes, and Mako searches for bruise salve, while Asami says something about fetching food and tea and disappears to the kitchen.

They all reconvene in a few minutes, standing at the foot of her bed. Even in the aftermath of the most intense pro-bending matches, Korra has never seen such tired and sad and beat-down looking teenagers. It takes her a while to find her voice, and when she can, it comes out sounding dull and dead.

"Asami…about your dad…?”

Asami shrugs, the movement stiff and jerky. “He was in the crowd, I guess. In the top box across from us. I saw the cops take him in.”

Korra swallows over her dry throat. “I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it.

“No,” Asami replies quickly. “It doesn’t matter.” Mako takes her hand, and squeezes it. 

Silence falls over them again. 

“Are you going to be okay here?” Bolin asks in a small voice, gesturing around the infirmary.

For some reason, the question makes Korra’s eyes fill up with tears, and she blinks them back hastily. “I will.”

They move forward, embracing her in a gentle group hug. “There’s no food in the kitchen,” Asami says. “We’re going to make you and Tarrlok some right now, so that you can eat it when you wake up.”

They leave, glancing worriedly at her over their shoulders. Korra takes a few deep breaths, and the movement pulls at her aching ribs. She strips off her Equalist clothes with difficulty, flinging them into the corner of the room. If only she could bring fire to her palms and incinerate them–

But that familiar warmth will never touch her palms again, and the tears are spilling out of her eyes now. Korra swipes them away angrily, and all of a sudden, she feels too bone-wearyingly exhausted to even rub on the bruise balm. Clumsily, she shakes out her sleeping clothes, and pulls them on. She tugs at her hair ties until they slide free of her tangled hair, bringing clumps of hair with them. Without even putting them on the bedside table, Korra slides into bed, pulling the covers over her head.

It feels like the nightmares start the second she closes her eyes.

-

All she can dream is nightmares, even after Tenzin brings her some herbal draught that is supposed to induce a sleep so deep that it is dreamless. 

Every time she wakes up, instinctively, she tries to bend. The tea, the earth on the floor, or bring fire to her palms. Because maybe everything that had happened with Amon had just been part of her nightmares too. 

It’s no use, and every time Korra realizes it, all over again, she cries. 

Tenzin, Mako, Asami, and Bolin bring her food and tea. When she’s awake, though everyone has their own duties to assume, at least one of them is always by her side. Mako gives her detailed reports on the situation inside Republic City, and the search for Amon. He brings her newspapers from the market, from around the world, all reporting on the events within Republic City. “They’re not saying anything bad about you, Korra,” Mako assures her. “Nobody is. It’s all about how you saved the city.”

Bolin and Asami bring Sitka and Pabu into her room and get them to act out a play for her benefit, complete with costumes. Tarrlok visits afterward. They hold hands, and sit in silence. When Tarrlok goes, Tenzin comes in, having unearthed one of the old board games he used to bring to the South Pole to play with her, when she had been young.

He brings the phone to her once, too, with her mom and dad on the other line. Korra tries, but she can only get a couple of sentences in before dissolving into tears. _We love you,_ her parents say. _We’re so proud of you, Korra. You’ve done so well, and you’ve been so brave._

Afterward, Korra wipes the tears from her eyes, and resolves that it will be the last time she does so. _This is why I kept swimming,_ she reminds herself. _It was worth it._

One and a half days after it happens, she feels well enough to stand. To walk, after the bloodbending, and to feel the unresponsive earth under her feet, and not want to fall to her knees and touch it and beg it to be hers again. Asami comes to her room in the infirmary, and the two of them walk to the courtyard, just in time to see the several air bison swooping down from the cloudless, deep blue skies. They land smoothly in the center of the couryard, and Korra feels a small smile tug at her lips, as three orange-and-red clad blurs leap down from one of the bison and tackle Tenzin with such force that he is almost knocked to the ground.

Pema climbs down more slowly, a small bundle tied to her back. The kids catch sight of her then, and Korra barely has enough time to notice how much they have grown, before they sprint toward her, moving with unearthly speed. Jinora and Ikki both attach themselves to her sides, hugging her tightly. Somehow, Meelo ends up climbing on top of her shoulders, clinging to her like a baby koala-otter.

“You’re home!” he squeals. “We missed you.”

Korra picks up Jinora and Ikki and twirls them around until they laugh, and Meelo howls into her ear. “I missed you guys too. You’re so tall! I bet you’re going to have your airbending tattoos any day now.”

“Thank you so much for saving Daddy,” Ikki says fervently. “He called us on the phone and told us about everything you did.”

Jinora nods, looking up at her with her wide brown eyes. “Korra, you’re a hero. You saved the whole city.”

The idea of _her_ being called a hero leaves Korra a little tongue-tied. For as long as she can remember, all she has heard from the Order of the White Lotus is, _Korra, you have so much to learn. Hero_ and _savior_ were terms that were always applied to the other Avatars - Aang, Kyoshi, Rei, Yangchen, and so many more. 

Pema approaches then, having left Rohan in his father’s arms. Before Korra can say anything, she pulls her close, pressing a motherly kiss to her cheek. “Oh, Korra - everything is going to be okay soon,” she reassures, stroking her hair. “Tenzin told me that he called Katara. We’re all leaving for the South Pole in a couple of days, and I’m sure that Katara will be able to help you. It’s going to be all right. Don’t worry.”

Korra rests her cheek against Pema’s shoulder, blinking as her eyes burn. “I hope so." 

Ikki tugs on her hand insistently, and Korra turns to find Jinora on the other side of her, and Meelo holding hands with an amused-looking Asami, while blushing deeply. "The Fire Lord and Prince Iroh say hi,” Ikki blurts. “And they want you to come and visit them anytime.”

Korra smiles, feeling her spirits lift a little bit. It would be nice to have a little vacation, after everything that’s happened. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Iroh. Hey, did you guys get to see the turtleduck pond? And did he tell you whether that weird tiger-monkey spirit is still haunting the Royal Palace?”

All the kids start talking at once, and Pema laughs. “Why don’t all of you go sit in the grass? I’ll bring lunch outside as soon as we take our things in.”

-

That night is the first time Korra has dinner outside of the infirmary since returning to Air Temple Island. The combination of the airbending family’s return, and the prospect of going to the South Pole to see Katara and her parents, makes everything more bearable than it has been in days. 

After a long discussion about Air Nomad hospitality and courtesy, Tarrlok had been invited to eat dinner with them as well. It's…a little bit awkward, considering that Pema refuses to make eye contact with him, whereas the kids keep staring at him, giving him fish-eyed, suspicious looks.

Just a few minutes after they start dinner, a soft knock sounds on the wood-paneled sliding door. Korra looks up from her rice to see Lin standing in the doorway, dressed in her uniform, and looking incredibly exhausted. “I’m sorry for interrupting,” she says. “I can wait outside until you finish." 

"Not at all,” Pema replies, standing to greet her. “We just started. Would you like some dinner?”

Lin gives her a small smile. “Thank you, but not tonight.” She glances around the dining room, and Korra tenses up slightly, noticing the strange expression on her face. Tenzin and Tarrlok seem to pick up on it too.

“I forgot the sesame rolls and the pot of plum sauce in the kitchen,” Pema says suddenly. “Ikki, Jinora, can you please bring them out for us? And Meelo, if you could put the frozen yogurt out on the counter to soften…”

Meelo salutes her and runs off in the direction of the kitchen. Ikki and Jinora exchange significant glances, and they are significantly slower to leave. Both of them linger by the doorway for as long as they can, before disappearing down the hallway.

Lin waits a few seconds, watching them go, and then she clears her throat, shifting from foot to spot. She seems unsure of where to look. Her gaze flickers from Korra, to Tenzin, and then to Tarrlok, before lighting on Ikki’s abandoned rice bowl. “They found Amon,” she says.

Bolin knocks over his glass of water. “Sorry,” he mumbles, trying to mop it up with his sleeve. “Sorry, sorry.”

Korra just stares at Lin, numb. For the first time in days, weeks, even months, her mind grinds to a screeching halt. Tenzin looks as shocked as she does. Tarrlok is just staring at Lin, eyes wide.

“Where is he?” Tenzin asks, looking down the hallway uneasily.

Lin sighs. “We…we found his remains, I mean to say. Washed up on a small island in the Mo Ce Sea. It happened a few hours ago.”

Tenzin closes his eyes for a few moments, before opening them again. “What happened?”

“From what we can tell, it appears that Amon fled Republic City on an Equalist motorboat. It looks like there was some kind of accident - a gas explosion, most likely.”

The words just don’t seem to register. As recently as this morning, she had been lying in bed, hoping to watch Amon brought in by the police to face a trial, and then be executed publicly, but still–

“Excuse me,” Tarrlok says, his voice barely audible. He rises and walks out hurriedly, head down, loose hair masking what Korra can see of his face. 

Lin and Tenzin keep talking, and Bolin touches her arm. Korra doesn’t feel the touch or hear the words. All that she can think of, and all that she can see, is black-clad _remains_ lying on the coast of some small, deserted island. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, stumbling to her feet. Ignoring their voices calling out to her, she leaves through the same door Tarrlok had, almost at a run.

The cool night air is like a slap to the face. The stars look exceptionally bright and plentiful tonight, and the full moon reflects off the ocean. _Did you do this, Yue?_ Korra asks, looking up at the moon. _Did the spirits want to make things even?_

She runs, her boots sinking into the sand. She almost trips on the rocks, and ignores the sky bison baying at her as she passes their stables, and Naga’s howling. Korra finds Tarrlok where she suspected she would - near the caves where the two of them used to meet in secret. It feels like so long ago. Amon’s identity was still a mystery to them…and they were still benders.

Tarrlok sits on the sand, knees pulled to his chest, head buried in his arms. Korra hesitates for a few moments, before sitting beside him. She pats him on the arm stiffly, and then rubs his shoulder, trying to be comforting. Spirits, it feels wrong. Part of her just wants to grab him and make him get up and dance with her in celebration.

“Hey,” she says softly. “You okay, tigerbear?" 

When Tarrlok looks up, his eyes are reddened, but dry. "I don’t know what to feel,” he replies, pressing his hand into the soft white sand. “I did my mourning for Noatak a long time ago, a few years after he disappeared in that blizzard.”

Korra nods, at a loss for what to say. Tarrlok picks up a seashell and studies it intently, rubbing his finger against the sharp edge. “Finding out he was alive, and Amon, was like…finding him, and losing him all over again. Do you understand?”

“Kind of. I guess.”

Tarrlok is silent for a long time. He throws the seashell into the ocean and puts his face in his hands. “When I was in the cell,” he says, at last, “I remember thinking that I would rather have Noatak died twenty-two years ago, than be _this_. What he became, at the end. What he was.”

Korra takes a deep breath, trying to comprehend it. “I understand,” she whispers. She doesn’t judge him for it, just like he has never judged her for the secrets she’s confessed to him. “Did you mean it?”

“I don’t know,” Tarrlok says, and it comes out more like a cry. “I didn’t know. But now–”

Korra hugs him tight. He pulls her close, burying his face in her hair, and after a few minutes, she’s crying too - not for Amon, never for him, but for Tarrlok.

-

They leave for the South Pole two days later. 

The journey, by the fastest ship that Tenzin had been able to contract, takes just a day. They - Tenzin and his family, and Korra’s friends, had left in the afternoon. Twenty-four hours later, Tarrlok sits in Master Katara’s cramped healing hut, his head aching and his stomach hurting, as a result of an unprecedented wave of seasickness. Korra had felt the same thing.

_It’s the trauma,_ Tenzin had explained awkwardly, as he gave them cups of soothing herbal tea. _Of your connection with your natural element being severed like this._

Korra’s parents had been waiting for them at the dock, and Korra had practically flown into their arms. In the days leading up to the journey, and for the duration of the trip, Tarrlok had been apprehensive. Pema barely tolerates him as it is, and Tonraq and Senna have even more reason to despise him. In Pema’s eyes, and surely in Korra’s parents’, he has no right to have even accompanied their daughter here.

His worry had been largely unfounded. Tonraq and Senna had embraced Tenzin and his family - shaking off Tenzin’s whispered, profound apologies, and the deep bow he made to both of them - and Korra’s friends. Senna had looked at him, glassy-eyed, and nodded shortly in acknowledgement. Tonraq just kept a protective arm around Korra.

They had headed straight here, to Master Katara’s healing hut, on the outskirts of the Southern Water Tribe’s settlement. The air inside was thick and heavy with the smell of incense. Food had been laid out on the table for them, but nobody touched it. Tenzin and Pema kissed the pale-looking Korra on the forehead and murmured their blessings, followed by Tonraq and Senna. Korra mumbled her thanks, and managed a small, brave smile for them, and then she walked into the inner chamber of the hut, her head held high.

That had been almost two hours ago. Since then, they have done nothing but wait.

Aside from some conversation between Korra’s parents and Pema and Tenzin, the room remains quiet and tense. Senna holds baby Rohan in her arms, and Tonraq keeps getting up to pace in circles, and then sitting down, staring blankly at the opposite wall. 

Tenzin has his eyes closed, as if in silent prayer. Korra’s friends look as grim as he’s ever seen them, slumped in their chairs, their faces pinched with worry. Every so often, Mako murmurs some kind of quiet reassurance to Asami and Bolin, sitting on either side of him. _It’s taking a long time. That must mean that Master Katara found something that she can work with, to reverse what Amon did to Korra._ Even Tenzin’s children seem dispirited, huddled together on their own small sofa.

There has been no news. Every few minutes, a soft green glow shines through the crack underneath the door separating the waiting area from the healing chamber. Tarrlok can’t help but watch the pulsing ebb and flow of the healing energy. He can’t tear his eyes away from it. In his mind’s eye, he sees Katara at work. He sees her step back and watch as Korra rises from the table, and brings flame to her palm with one hand, and bends a stream of water out of a flask with the other. He imagines her smile; the way her face lights up with it and makes her look _alive_ , like she hasn’t since–

Suddenly, the door creaks open. Everyone starts visibly, opening their eyes, sitting up straight, and Senna and Tonraq rise as one. Korra appears in the doorway, Katara just behind her, and for a second, Tarrlok hopes–

But the look on Korra’s face, and Katara’s, says it all. Korra just looks around the room for a moment, her expression bleak, like she doesn’t see them at all. Before anyone can even speak, before what happened even really registers, she charges out of the hut with her head down, banging her leg on a corner table as she goes. It doesn’t slow her down. The door slams shut behind her, and baby Rohan bursts into tears. 

Tonraq and Senna follow at once, moving almost as quickly as Korra had, the anguish written clearly on their faces. Tenzin rises from his seat, slowly making his way to his mother. He puts gentle hands on her shoulders, guiding her to the nearest sofa. Katara sinks down on it, looking even older than her years, and shakes her head wordlessly.

For the first time since they had arrived here, Tarrlok looks Korra’s friends in the eye. Like him, they’re standing up, looking uncertain and utterly ashen, and for once - for the first time ever - he sees his emotions reflected on their faces. 

“Come on,” Mako says, his voice barely audible. 

He leads them outside, into the bracing cold. Naga and Sitka are standing near Tonraq, Senna, and Korra, forming a sort of protective wall against the freezing wind. Korra has her face hidden in the fur lining of Senna’s coat, and as her parents hold her, Tarrlok thinks that he has never seen two people look so helpless.

“Don’t ever say that again,” Tonraq tells Korra bracingly, as the four of them make their tentative approach. “Listen to me, Korra. Everybody in that room loves you and cares about you, and that has nothing to do with whether you can bend or not.” He looks at them, then, and Tarrlok fights the urge to flinch at the pain in his eyes. “Tell her, please.”

“We love you, Korra,” Bolin says tentatively. “I know that this is hard, but you’re always going to be our friend.”

“This doesn’t change anything, between the four of us,” Mako adds fiercely.

Asami nods. “You’re still the same amazing person that you always were. Your being the Avatar isn’t what makes everyone who knows you like you as much as we do.”

Tarrlok sees a visible shudder wrack Korra’s body. Finally, she pulls away from Senna, wiping her tears away with her glove. She looks at them, and at him, and it hurts, that he can’t go over and wrap her in his arms like he would, any time she was upset–

“Thank you,” Korra whispers, her voice almost lost in the howling of the wind. Naga presses close to her, nuzzling her arm.

Her mom puts her arm around her shoulders, stroking her hair. “Come inside, princess. It’s cold, and you need to have something to eat.”

They’re all looking at her, sad but expectant and _loving,_ and it makes her feel warm, on one level, but - it’s too much. Right now, it’s too much. All it’ll take is one reassuring squeeze of her hand, or a pat on her shoulder, a kiss on the cheek, a hug, and then she’ll break down, in front of everybody. They’ll try to comfort her again, and…and she can’t do that now. It makes her feel selfish, but she can’t listen to that now.

“You guys go ahead,” Korra manages, and thankfully, her voice doesn’t crack. “I just need to be alone for a while.”

Nobody looks convinced - not even Asami, Mako, and Bolin, the traitors - and Korra reaches out and gives Naga a pat on the neck. “I’ll be with Naga,” she says, as calmly as she can. As normally. As in as much of a confident, _I-am-not-going-to-jump-off-a-cliff-in-front-of-my-dog_ fashion as she can muster. “I’ll be fine.”

“All right,” her dad says, after a few beats of silence. “I…we understand. Just don’t be out for more than half an hour, or we’ll come looking for you. There’s a storm building, and it’s not a good time to wander off into the tundra with Naga.”

“Fine." 

Reluctantly, they turn to leave, and Korra clears her throat. "Can you…can you guys tell Master Katara that it’s going to be okay? That I said that it’s okay, and not to be–”

Her mom assures her that they will. One by one, they head back inside the hut, looking back at her. Tarrlok lingers as much as he can, until he’s the last one outside. “Korra,” he says softly, and she knows what he’s thinking about. Half-healed slashes and finger-sized burn marks on the inside of her wrists.

The look on his face breaks her heart all over again. “I’ll be fine,” Korra says, looking him in the eye. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

Tarrlok trusts her, as he always does. It seems to take all the energy he has to look away from her and make his way back into the hut, Sitka at his side. 

It takes all her effort to put one foot in front of the other and walk toward Naga, her boots sinking into the deep snow. Naga crouches to the ground, letting her clamber up onto her saddle. With a heavy heart, Korra pats her friend on the neck, and Naga takes off at a run, moving through the sharp wind and falling snow with ease. 

She can see the Order of the White Lotus compound from here. It’s too much, to remember the countless times she had hollered up at Howl, standing up in the guard tower, to open the gate and let her and Naga through. Sometimes he had let her out, even when it was against orders. Even when she was _allowed_ to go out, some officers would follow her from a distance, keeping an eye on her. She’d hated it so much, but every time she had confronted the elders about it, they hadn’t budged. _The South Pole is one of the most hostile and dangerous environments in the world. We can’t risk any accidents._

All the breath leaves Korra’s body in something that is half an angry huff and half a sob. She won’t have to worry about that anymore. Now that she’s no longer the Avatar, the Order of the White Lotus will never breathe down her neck again. 

She’s finally free. Just…not in the way she had ever wanted, or expected.

Out of force of habit, Naga brings her to the cliff that she used to sit on, overlooking the southern ocean. Korra slides off Naga, giving her a clumsy, reassuring cuddle, after seeing the worried look in her polar bear-dog’s dark eyes.

She trudges to the cliff’s edge, and looks up, and down. The sky is bleak, gray and overcast, and the ocean rages with a fury that she’s never seen before. The waves slam into the jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff, and just like that, everything Master Katara said in the healing chamber comes back to her. 

_This is unlike anything I have ever seen before, and unlike anything that has ever been recorded, throughout history. It is not a spiritual injury, but a physical one._ Katara’s fingers touched the point on her forehead where Amon had pressed his thumb, and Korra had shuddered. _All of the chi pathways that affect bending have been severed. Not numbed and temporarily disabled, in the fashion of the chi-blockers, but severed._

_If it’s a physical injury,_ Korra had replied, after a few moments, her mind struggling to comprehend everything, _Doesn’t that mean you can heal it? You can heal pretty much anything._

Master Katara had hesitated before replying, and then, she knew it was over.

_I’ll do research,_ Katara had told her, at the end, grasping her hands. _I’ll contact Wan Shi Tong’s Great Library. I’ll do everything I can to find an answer to this, but for now–_

At the very least, she’ll be without her bending for years. _If_ Master Katara can find anything that can help her in the Great Library. And if not…

The thought of living without her bending forever, living the rest of her life without it, is frightening. It’s all she knows. She can’t even _remember_ her life without bending. Some of her first memories are of waterbending with her mom in the bathtub. 

Korra closes her eyes, and when she opens them, there are tears running down her cheeks. Salt water, just like the ocean beneath her. The despair is so intense that she can hardly breathe. _Why?_ It’s the only thing she can think. Back at the hut, right now - and around the world, once the news gets out… Everybody will be wondering what this means. To have an Avatar who can’t bend…how can she do her duty as the Avatar without the one thing that _makes_ her the Avatar? 

She can imagine the editorialists of the world’s newspapers, and the other spiritual experts of the world, hunched over their typewriters, frantically tapping out their detached analysis of the situation. Nothing like this has ever happened before; an Avatar left alive, but stripped of their abilities. What effect is this going to have on the world, if anything? Is everything going to fall out of balance, like it did during the hundred years that Aang was trapped in the iceberg? Worse, is the whole Avatar Cycle going to be ruined? Is the Avatar Spirit inside her broken, in some way?

It’s incomprehensible. _Horrifying,_ that this would happen, and that this would happen to _her._ History will always remember her as the failed Avatar. The broken Avatar - perhaps the Avatar who ended the cycle forever. 

Korra struggles to take a deep, gasping breath, wiping her tears away. _What use am I now?_ She had asked her dad, just as soon as her parents had found her, outside the hut. Both of them had immediately argued with her, trying to soothe her, but it hadn’t done much. She had known that her friends and family wouldn’t abandon her because of what had happened. That doesn’t change how the future stretches out before her, completely dark and uncertain, for the second time in her life. Without her bending, is she even the Avatar anymore? What is she going to _do_?

The fear is too much, and the hopelessness–

Slowly at first, and then stumbling, almost tripping in her haste to move, Korra backs away from the edge of the cliff, until she can’t see the ocean anymore. 

She had already fought that fight, dozens of feet beneath the surface of Yue Bay, with Amon’s fingers wrapped around her throat. She had chosen life. She had fought for it, tooth and nail, when Amon was trying to steal it from her. She had decided then that even if she wasn’t going to exist as the Avatar, she was going to learn how to live as just _Korra._ She owes herself that much. She owes her family and friends, and everyone who cares about her, that much.

_I’ve gotten through worse before,_ Korra tells herself, repeating it over and over again, until the words sink into her, providing a little bit of warmth. Despite what everyone thinks, she hasn’t forgotten the time that she had been Tarrlok’s captive. When she had been held hostage, and doubted that she would ever see her family and friends again. She _never_ will forget that. But she got through it. She survived, and won that battle, against all odds. 

Korra lets the thought echo in her mind for a few moments, until all the strength drains from her. It’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, a long month, a long more than a year. She sinks to the ground bonelessly, wrapping her arms around her legs, and closing her eyes.

The sudden warmth on her shoulders and back, and the feeling of long grass against her legs, instead of snow, makes her sit up straight, in complete and total shock.

She’s sitting in the middle of a grassy, flowery meadow. It’s unbelievably serene, and the only sound is that of the gentle wind rustling the grass. It’s the same meadow that she had found herself in almost a year ago, the first time she had crossed over into the Spirit World…

Korra looks around in amazement. Just to check that she isn’t asleep, she plucks a honeysuckle flower and smells it, and then pinches herself. Nope - not asleep. But how did she make it here? How could this even happen?

She hears a snuffling sound behind her, masked by the wind. When Korra turns, she sees Appa approaching, and her heart leaps at the sight of Aang, walking beside him. The last time she had seen him, Aang had appeared in his twelve-year-old form. This time, he’s an adult - the same Aang that she had seen in Tenzin and Master Katara’s old photographs.

Before she can get up, Aang makes his way over to her, before sinking to his knees and giving her a hug. “Hi, Korra,” he says quietly. 

Appa licks her hair, and Korra hugs her previous life back, numb. “Aang,” she says, and when they pull apart, she sees that he doesn’t look as confused as she does, at all. “What am I doing here? How did I get to the Spirit World without my bending?”

“I didn’t call you like I did before, if that’s what you’re asking,” Aang replies, and he gives her a gentle smile. “She did.”

Korra blinks, taken aback, and she scans the meadow, looking for Avatar Kyoshi, or Avatar Rei, or even Yangchen. “Who?”

Aang reaches out and taps her collarbone lightly. “The Avatar Spirit herself. You asked yourself whether she was broken or injured, and this was her way of answering your question…and a few of the other things that were on your mind.”

Korra’s jaw drops. Lightly, uncertainly, she presses her hand to the front of her parka, over her heart, and then, to her head. _She._ The Avatar Spirit was a girl. And–

“It’s still alive?” she whispers, unable to believe it. She’s sick and tired of crying, at this point, but her eyes well up with tears anyway. “It’s still in me?”

Aang looks back at her solemnly. “I don’t have enough time to tell you about it now, but there’s more to the Avatar Spirit than bending, Korra. You’re still the Avatar, chosen by the Spirit.”

Korra exhales slowly, trying to wrap her mind around it. “There’s never been an Avatar that can’t bend, though,” she says, in a small voice. “I…I don’t know what to do out there.”

“Your task is the same it’s always been,” Aang replies cryptically. He plucks a yellow flower, and offers it to her. “To bring balance to the world.”

Korra takes the flower and stares down at it. For the hundredth time, she resolves that when she dies and her spirit mentors the next Avatar, she is going to be _clear._ No riddles. No talking in circles. She’s just going to sit that kid down and tell him or her what they need to do. “How?”

“I’m going to tell you something that Avatar Yangchen told me, a long time ago.” Aang pauses, a faraway look in his eyes. “She said that the Avatar must be compassionate towards all people, and the only way to do that is to live with them. The Avatar must experience sadness, anger, joy, and happiness. By feeling all of these emotions, it helps you understand how precious human life is, so that you will do anything to protect it.”

Korra nods. “I understand. I understand what she means by that, but…”

“In my time, the major threat to the world’s balance was the Fire Nation’s desire to conquer it. You face a different threat, one that you’ve already seen play out in Republic City.”

“The conflict between benders and non-benders,” Korra sighs. “I know. Amon mentioned that the movement was growing around the world.”

“Exactly.” Aang looks at her, sadness and pride mingled in his expression. “Do you see what it is, now? On the cliff, you asked why.”

Korra remains silent, still not quite getting it. Unlike her teachers, though, Aang doesn’t make her feel stupid - not at all. He takes her hand. “This was a terrible thing to bear,” he tells her quietly. “No other Avatar has experienced what you are going through now. But I promise you that it wasn’t senseless. It sounds cruel, but this serves an important purpose. You were chosen for a reason.”

For the second time that day, it’s like all the wind is knocked out of her. “Oh,” Korra manages. She takes a stalk of grass, and breaks it in half, her mind racing. “To live among them,” she begins. “To understand them and their experiences, to be compassionate toward all people…”

Aang nods. “The non-benders. Yes. The Avatar has always lived in the body of a human bender.”

“Perspective,” Korra murmurs. It’s starting to come together. “The Avatar must be compassionate towards all people, and the only way to do that is to live with them.” She looks down at her open, empty palms, and a bittersweet sensation surges up inside her. “ _As_ them." 

"The world is changing,” Aang says sadly. “Benders and non-benders have never been pitted against each other before. Because the world is changing, to best affect change and maintain peace and balance, the Avatar must change with it.”

Korra bows her head in acknowledgement, and she has never felt as weighed down with solemn duty as she does now. “I understand.”

Aang pats her on the hand, his face serious. “You’ve heard it said before, but you’ve been very brave, Korra. You’ve doubted yourself in the past, but there is a reason that the Avatar Spirit chose you to bond her spirit with. There was a reason that you, specifically, were chosen, during this time in history." 

She smiles, more touched than she can say. "Thanks." 

They sit in comfortable silence for a little while, watching Appa munch on grass. "Aang?” Korra ventures, after some hesitation, and he looks at her. She shrugs, unsure of how to explain herself. “Is this…is this forever? Will I ever get my bending back? Someday? Is it even possible?”

Aang just watches her for a few moments. Then, he reaches out and touches her cheek lightly. “You had a scar there, once.”

Korra blinks at the non sequitur. She touches her cheek too, remembering the cut, made by the icicle daggers Tarrlok had flung at her, during their fight at his office. The cut had bled, and scabbed over, and turned into a scar. “Yeah, I did.”

“But the scar faded. It healed, as almost all injuries do, given time.”

Korra stares at him, hardly daring to breathe, to hope. “Are you saying…?”

“Ultimately, it is the spirit’s decision,” Aang says softly. “Someday. When your work is done, and when the world is set on the right path again. When the next set of unique challenges to the world’s balance presents themselves - whenever that may be - you will be ready to face them, Avatar Korra." 

Korra bites the inside of her cheek, trying to hold back her tears. "Thank you,” she whispers.

Aang helps her to her feet, and he places his hands on her shoulders. “Remember,” he says. “You are not alone.”

Korra smiles up at him, thinking of Rei, and Kuruk and Kirima, who had helped her out of the sea - and Roku and Kyoshi, who had appeared to her in that vision…and Aang, who had taken her Spirit World-penguin-sledding, just to cheer her up. “And I never will be." 

The beautiful, sunlit meadow fades, and when Korra opens her eyes again, she is sitting in the snow, Naga standing guard at her side.

She pinches herself again, just to make sure it wasn’t a dream. Naga sniffs her hair, where Appa had licked it, and then gives a disapproving sneeze.

Korra flops from a sitting position onto her back. She rolls around, overwhelmed, and then flaps her arms and legs in the snow, making a snow figure. Naga is staring at her as if her mind has been temporarily affected by the cold, but…

She’s still the Avatar, and she still has a purpose.

Korra leaps to her feet, hugs Naga around the neck, and then hauls herself up onto her back. The polar bear-dog responds to her palpable enthusiasm, and sets off at a run, back in the direction of the hut.

It’s really snowing now, coming down hard, and visibility isn’t that great. They’re almost at the hut by the time Korra sees Tenzin, her parents, Tarrlok and Sitka, and her friends leaving the hut with their coats on, obviously ready to begin their search–

Naga barks, sonorously loud, as she skids to a stop outside of the hut. "Korra!” Tenzin yells, turning an alarming shade of purple, even in the cold. “Where have you been? We’ve all been worried sick!”

“You were supposed to be back fifteen minutes ago!” Her mom tries to help her down from Naga, even though she hasn’t needed help dismounting since she was a kid.

Korra jumps down, and she can’t help but grin at the look of bemusement on all of their faces. “We’re glad you look happier now, but what’s up?” Bolin asks curiously, shifting from foot to foot and puffing on his gloved hands in a futile effort to warm them up. “Did you find a giant tiger-seal that we can make into jerky out there, or something?”

Korra beams, as Pema, Katara, and the kids, similarly bundled-up, make their way outside. “Well, I have some news for you guys…”

-

_to be continued_

-


	19. Part Nineteen

It takes Korra the better part of half an hour to explain everything to them, everything she had seen when, against all odds, she had found her way back to the Spirit World, and back to Aang.

Her mother dissolves into tears, burying her face in her hands. Katara bows her head in gratitude or prayer, or a little bit of both. Tenzin just stares at her, gaping openmouthed, like a fish. “This is completely unprecedented,” he stammers. “Korra, this is groundbreaking, historical–”

Bolin punches the air, jumps so high he almost hits the ceiling, and lets out a gleeful whoop, as Mako and Asami rush over and hug her. “This is _awesome!_ Fantastic!”

“Magical!” Meelo squeals right into her ear, almost deafening her. 

Her dad holds her close, and then the airbending family converges on her at once. Pema pats her face with a slightly shaking hand, and gives her a tearful smile, while the kids squish the breath out of her body with hugs. Sitka had managed to squirm into the house, and she weaves in and out of the crowd, wagging her tail excitedly, while Naga sticks her head through the open window, licking Korra’s hair whenever she gets close enough. 

In all the chaos, even Tarrlok manages to give her a gentle pat on the shoulder, without getting noticed by her parents or Pema. When she meets his eyes over Tenzin’s shoulder, he looks so happy and so relieved for her, that for a second, Korra just wants to pull him into her arms and hug him properly, regardless of being surrounded by her family and friends.

It’s kind of amazing. An hour ago, when she had come out of the healing room, the front room of Katara’s healing hut had… Well, it had looked and felt like a funeral. It had felt as if someone - if _she_ \- had died. Everyone had been so tense and silent. Now, just looking around is enough to make her heart expand. Everyone is smiling, even baby Rohan, and her mom, still wiping away her tears - and talking at once, Tenzin and Katara about how amazing it is that the Avatar Spirit is apparently a girl. Korra just sits and watches it all, leaning into her mom’s side, and as happy as she is, she can’t believe it, she still can’t believe it. Her head is spinning, and it’s a little overwhelming. She doesn’t even want to _blink,_ because what if this is a dream? What if she’s still sleeping on the ship, and it’s all a dream? Every single night since Amon - Noatak - had taken her bending, she’s dreamed about getting it back.

Korra glances down at her hand. Except she doesn’t have it back. She’s still a non-bender. What Aang had given her was a sense of purpose, and the affirmation that she’s still the Avatar. That Amon hadn’t erased her identity and worth to the world, when he had taken her bending. She bends and pets Sitka, smoothing her hand against the dog’s soft fur, focusing on the feel of it beneath her skin. 

_It’s not a dream,_ she realizes, and it stuns her a little. It’s real. This is really happening. It makes her want to laugh and jump and scream. And at the same time, it makes her want to find a soft, quiet spot and go fall asleep. Maybe now she’ll finally be able to sleep through the night, and the nightmares will be gone. 

Bolin’s arm around her shoulder jolts her out of her reverie. “Do you know what we need?” he asks, grinning around at everyone in the room - even Tarrlok, Korra notices, who is standing awkwardly next to Katara. Who, it should be noted, doesn’t seem to mind his presence, unlike Pema and her dad. 

“We need,” Bolin continues, without waiting for a response, and gesturing dramatically - almost hitting Mako in the face as he does so. “We need a _party.”_

Ikki jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “Yeah! We need to celebrate Korra!”

Her dad smiles. “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” he says, looking at her. “Everyone in the village has been worried, and they’ll be thrilled that you’re well." 

"Can we organize a festival for tonight with such short notice?” Pema asks, looking at Katara, and her old waterbending teacher inclines her head resolutely. 

“Of course we can. This is a very special occasion, after all. If everyone here helps with cooking and decorations, by evening, we will be ready. But more importantly…” Katara touches her on the arm, visibly concerned. “Korra, are you up for it? We know that the past few weeks have been an ordeal for you. If you want to rest, or have some time on your own, that is perfectly understandable.”

She’s never been one to turn down a party - except for Tarrlok’s stupid gala way back when, of course, and Korra has to stifle the urge to scoff at the memory. Today, though, right now, it’s the last thing she wants. All she really wants is to go somewhere quiet, with Naga and Sitka at her side, and curl up with them, and sit, and _process_ and think. _You better write that in the history books under “unprecedented” too, Tenzin._

But everyone is looking at her, hopeful and expectant and so very happy. She can’t let them down. They have a reason to celebrate, after all. Korra nods, cracking her knuckles, and putting her brave face on. “Trust me,” she says, and to her surprise, her voice already sounds like her old voice, pre-Amon, pre-her bending being taken away, tough and confident. “After everything that’s happened over the last few months, I am _so_ ready to party.”

-

The second Korra had confirmed that the celebration would take place, everybody in the hut had sprung to action. Tonraq, Tenzin, Korra, and her friends had left to inform the chief of the Southern Water Tribe of the news, spread the word of Korra’s current status, and check on non-vegetarian food available at the market. Pema and her children had eagerly taken on the role of decorators for the event, and departed the hut immediately afterward, earnestly discussing potential venues, ice sculptures, lights, and flowers. 

Tarrlok had lingered awkwardly in the hut, and decided to make himself useful by clearing away the platters of snacks lying on the tables. Senna and Master Katara are the only ones left, now, standing near the window in quiet conversation. He takes his time rinsing the platters in the attached kitchen, running the water loudly, in an attempt to give them some privacy. It’s been weeks, but the feeling of the water running over his hands still fills him with a dull ache. Water had always been soothing and life-affirming, a source of joy and power, peace and beauty. Now, the sight of it, the feel of it, reminds him of loss and Noatak, all at once. He’ll be damned if it isn’t pathetic, but just thinking of Noatak, even now, makes his throat tighten. 

_You tried to break her, to destroy the Avatar cycle, but you couldn’t._ The victory, as meaningful as it is, feels hollow. He wishes he could say it to Noatak’s face, as he sat behind bars, just as Noatak used to talk to him when he had been imprisoned. But he’ll never be able to say another word to Noatak again.

Tarrlok turns away from the sink sharply, and leans back against the counter, pinching the bridge of his nose. In the living room, Master Katara and Korra’s mother have fallen silent. 

He should go. He’s intruding on Korra’s family and friends, the people who had suffered when he had stolen her from them. He has money in his pocket; he could easily leave and see if there’s a merchant ship at the docks heading in the direction of Republic City. It’s not that he doesn’t want to celebrate with Korra - spirits, that’s the _only_ thing he wants, and he wants it so much that it’s embarrassing. To celebrate with her, truly, and to honor everything she’s done to help Republic City. To not be ostracized among her friends and family, to make it clear that she is important to him. He wants to be one of them, not the outsider on the fringes. 

Tarrlok sighs, turning back to the counter and wiping his hands on the towel, arranging it back on the rack with an air of finality. He can’t. Maybe he’ll never be able to. Maybe, to Korra’s family and her friends, he will always just be the man who stole her away, and put them through absolute hell. 

The creak of the door jolts him out of his reverie, and Tarrlok looks over, startled. Automatically, he walks over and pulls the heavy wooden door open. “Thank you,” Master Katara tells him, with surprising gentleness, as she shuffles inside. “Senna has gone to the market. I have quite a bit of food here, but no tiger-crab, and Korra loves tiger-crab.”

Tarrlok nods, a bit taken aback, and more than a little tongue-tied. Unfazed, Katara makes her way to the cabinet and begins to pull out pots and pans. “Do you know how to cook?” she asks, her back to him.

“Northern-style,” Tarrlok manages, crossing over to her side, and pulling down a wok from the top shelf. “I’m familiar with a few southern recipes as well.”

Katara nods, and despite the fact that she radiates an unshakable calmness, the tension is too much, suddenly overwhelming. Tarrlok almost touches her frail, thin shoulder, but she turns and looks at him with those penetrating blue eyes, and jerks away, remembering - remembering her hatred for bloodbenders, for Yakone, and–

“I’m sorry,” he says, bowing his head. It’s a struggle to keep the words from falling out of his mouth in a rush. “For what my father did for Avatar Aang, and for what my brother did to Korra. For what I did to you and everyone close to her. I know…I know how much she means to you. I know that losing her must have been…”

“The worst thing I’ve been through since my husband and my brother Sokka’s passing,” Katara says, her voice barely audible. “Yes.” She touches his upper arm lightly, and Tarrlok almost jumps in surprise. “I am eighty-five years old,” she says, after a few moments, and the expression on her face is somehow far away. “I have experienced a great deal in my life. One lesson I learned early on is that there are no people in this world who don’t make mistakes. Some mistakes, of course, are worse than others." 

Katara lapses into silence, and Tarrlok braces himself. _My husband made the biggest mistake of his life by letting your father live. Yakone should have been executed, and you and your brother never should have been born._

"There are two types of people in the world,” Katara says, instead. “Those who learn from their mistakes, and those who don’t. Those who seek to right the wrongs they have done, and those who are remorseless, and remain uncaring to the plight of others. You, Tarrlok of the Northern Water Tribe, are the former.”

Tarrlok stares, and to his shock, she actually pats him on the hand once. “Nothing will ever undo the suffering and pain that Tonraq and Senna went through when you took their daughter,” Katara says softly. “And my son and his family, and myself. But you didn’t harm Korra, and you allowed her to come back to us. You made a conscious choice to do what was right, and that does mean something. It always will.”

Tarrlok bows, humbled. This is more than he could ever have hoped for. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

Katara just nods, before slowly making her way to the ice box. “Now, I assume you know how to clean a fish?" 

"I do, but–”

When he tells her about leaving, and how it may be the better idea, Katara fixes him with a stern look, and deposits an enormous frozen salmon-snake into his hands. “Korra clearly wants you here, which is why she brought you along in the first place. If you leave like this, without even having the courtesy of saying a word to her, she’ll be upset.”

Tarrlok eyes the salmon-snake with apprehension. “I don’t want…”

“Exactly.” Katara slides a cutting board and a knife over to him. “The purpose of this festival is to honor what Korra did in Republic City. She saved Lin and the Council and prevented the city from falling to the Equalists. She would readily admit that what she and her friends did was only possible because the two of you returned to Republic City when you did. If you had waited another couple of weeks, even a month, it would have been too late." 

"I–”

“Therefore, you do have a place at the celebration tonight, alongside with Mako, Bolin, and Asami,” Katara says firmly. “Others may disagree, but I assure you that there won’t be any fuss, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Tarrlok opens his mouth, but Katara’s tone brooks no argument, and he shuts it again, somewhat meekly. Chief Arkut may be the official leader of the Southern Water Tribe, but he has no doubt that Katara’s word carries just as much - if not more - weight, among the people of the South Pole. Korra had told him once that the chief and Master Katara were close personal friends. She had been his waterbending instructor, when he was a child. 

Katara turns on the radio, and after some fiddling with the dial, manages to pick up an Earth Kingdom pro-bending station. Tarrlok can’t help but smile, remembering the way Korra used to listen to the matches and cheer out loud. They work in silence much more comfortable than he expected, as Katara puts together a massive pot of five-flavor soup, and he cleans the fish.

“So,” Katara says, after some time. “What will you do now?”

“I was going to remove the head, unless you want it to be fried as well.”

Tarrlok realizes his mistake too late, after Katara actually rolls her eyes at him. For a second, he catches a glimpse of the fourteen-year-old of legend, who had saved the world alongside Avatar Aang. “After this, I meant to say. Do you think you will stay in Republic City, or will you reside elsewhere?”

Tarrlok hesitates, returning to scaling the fish. “I love Republic City,” he says, at last. “But I did think about leaving. The police unfroze my assets and returned my house to me, but I didn’t think I would exactly be welcome in the city. And I understand why that is.”

Katara nods in silent understanding, and Tarrlok glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t want to leave, though. I…I think I have to give something back. I owe the city that.”

“You served the city for years, as a member of the council.” Katara raises an eyebrow. “I still remember the very first time Tenzin complained about you, when you were first running for election." 

Tarrlok can’t help but scoff at the memory of when he had first met Tenzin, a little more than ten years ago. "Yes, well. It’s a little more complicated than that.” He trails off, unable to meet her eyes. “I took Korra away for almost a year, and that was the reason why the situation in Republic City fell apart so quickly. I’m sure you heard about all the members of the police force who were kidnapped and had their bending stolen from them. And I can’t even tell you how many businesses shut down, because their owners - benders - fled the city or went into hiding. It was a disaster." 

"I see,” Katara says softly. “But you aren’t going to return to the city council, I assume.”

Tarrlok spares a brief thought for his large, elegant former office, and laughs, a little bitterly. “Even if I live to be eighty, I think I’ll never be allowed within a mile of the council building ever again. I worked as a schoolteacher in the Earth Kingdom, and I enjoyed that, but I highly doubt that would be possible in Republic City. No, I have to find another way.”

“Do you have any ideas in mind?" 

He takes a deep breath, and then inclines his head. Speaking the words aloud is a bit daunting, but this idea has been lingering in his mind ever since he had heard the news about Noatak’s death. "I do, actually." 

"Well?” Katara asks, after a few moments, sliding a handful of chopped mint into her pot, and looking over at him. “Go on.”

-

“These are _amazing,_ ” Bolin says with feeling, as he shovels sea prunes into his mouth at a speed that puts even Meelo’s to shame. “These are _so good._ I don’t know why you guys don’t like them.”

“No way,” Asami replies, around a mouth full of extra-large lobster-shrimp. “This stuff is the best. You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

“This Southern Water Tribe food is a million times better than Narook’s,” Mako says, in between eager gulps of steaming hot five-flavor soup. “Your parents should come to Republic City, Korra. Your mom can open up her own restaurant." 

Korra laughs, entertained by the idea of her mom in a chef’s hat, and her dad ushering people around an igloo-themed restaurant. "I’m so glad you guys like it.” Chief Arkut and his wife had gifted her friends with traditional Water Tribe warrior’s clothing for the celebration, and dressed in blue and brown, wrapped in fur, they fit right in with the rest of the Southern Water Tribe. 

On impulse, she stretches her arms out and hugs all of them close, even though they’re all sitting and eating with food in their mouths. At that precise moment, a camera flash goes off, right in their faces. “You guys look awesome!” Ikki shouts, while Jinora, holding the camera, beams at them. 

“I love your warrior paint, Korra,” she says with feeling. 

Korra touches her cheek self-consciously. “Thanks, Jinora.”

“It’s true,” Bolin nods. “You look great." 

Korra catches a glimpse of her reflection in Mako’s bowl of soup, and the fierce, thick black marks that her father had inked onto her forehead and cheeks. It was the first time she had ever worn the traditional battle paint of the Water Tribes, and her eyes had filled with tears while her dad had been applying the paint. Before she had begun getting ready for the celebration, her mother and Master Katara had given her a new and much more elaborate anorak, embroidered with the Water Tribe lunar motif. After that, Chief Arkut had presented her with a wolf’s-head helmet finer than any she had ever seen before, bowing deeply and holding it out to her. "Avatar Korra,” he said.

When she had put it all on, the anorak and the helmet, and the paint, and she had looked at herself, Korra could barely recognize the strong, fierce woman staring back at her. “I look like Avatar Kirima,” she had whispered to Master Katara, hardly able to believe it. “And Avatar Kuruk." 

"You look like Avatar Korra,” Master Katara had replied, hugging her tightly. “The pictures they take of you tonight will be placed in the history books, and people will tell your story for generations to come." 

When the celebration had begun earlier tonight, and she had stepped out to face the entire tribe, the roar of applause and cheers had been deafening. Korra had just stood there for a few moments, overwhelmed, unable to comprehend it, before she smiled and bowed to them. 

In all the years she’s been alive, she’s never seen a celebration like this in the South Pole, not even for the solstices or festivals. The food is unbelievably good, and Pema and the ladies of the South Pole had surpassed themselves with the decorations. Flame-filled lanterns float on the dark water of the lake, and a huge circle of torches mounted on elaborately carved totem poles surrounds the festival grounds. Ice bowls on the floor are filled with arctic violet petals, and strings of light adorn beautiful ice sculptures depicting the Water Tribe spirits. 

"This is so beautiful,” Asami sighs now, gazing around at their surroundings. The view from the head table, the place of honor, is stunning. “I hope Jinora got pictures of everything.”

Korra catches a glimpse of her mother in the crowd, adjusting one of the strings of light hanging around a sculpture of Tui. “I hope so too. Listen, guys, I’ll be right back, okay? Keep eating, and keep an eye out for that candied seaweed I told you about.”

She leaves the high table, waving to the chief and his wife, and Tenzin, Pema, and their kids. To her eternal surprise, Master Katara, a couple of her friends, and Tarrlok, of all people, are seated at a table off in the corner, sharing seaweed noodles and seal, and engaged in what appears to be civil conversation. Korra grins at them. Tarrlok catches her eye and smiles a genuine smile, and Master Katara raises a glass to her. 

Korra manages to sneak up on her mom, sliding her arm through hers. “Hey, mom. Where’s Dad? And why aren’t you eating?”

Her mom leans against her, and Korra wonders when she had gotten taller than her. She looks down and notices, with a pang, the new strands of gray in her mother’s beautiful, thick black hair - undoubtedly the result of the stress of the last few weeks.

When Senna smiles, though, it lights up her face as it has always done, and it is as mischievous as ever. “Your father and his friends are trying to set up the fireworks. He swore to me that he’s going to make it even better than New Year’s in Ba Sing Se.”

“Fireworks? This is unbelievable.” Korra shakes her head in amazement. “You’re spoiling me. You know, while you’re at it, you could open up a pro-bending arena here in the South Pole and name it after me." 

Senna giggles. "I’m sure that Chief Arkut would be amenable to the idea.”

Korra takes a minute to envision it dreamily - the arena would be complete with a statue of her and the Fire Ferrets out front, of course - and then snaps back to reality. “Seriously, Mom, why aren’t you eating? The food is incredible.”

Senna shrugs, looking up at her. “I feel too full already,” she says simply. “I’m so happy I can’t even sit still. Having you here, having you well, and having our family together again - this is all I’ve ever needed.”

Korra’s eyes burn, and she bends, hugging her close. “Mom,” she says, her throat closing up. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Senna says, touching her on the cheek tenderly. Then she sighs and pulls away, looking down at her feet. “But I’m a horrible mother,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “You deserve better." 

"What?” Korra demands, horrified. “No! Why would you even say that?”

Her mom takes her hand, holding it like she used to when she had been a little girl. They start to walk around the lake, away from the crowds, and the sound of laughter and conversation. “Because when I heard that you were alive, and you had lost your bending, I was relieved,” she says, after a while. “All I could think about was the fact that you were alive. The loss of your bending didn’t even register to me, at first. All I could think about was that now, you could come home to us, to the South Pole, to stay - not to that compound, back to _home,_ where you haven’t lived since you were a little girl.” Senna stops, her lips trembling. “All I could think about was the fact that you could finally only be our daughter." 

"Mom,” Korra stammers, stunned. “Mom…”

Senna bows her head. “I know. I’m so selfish. When you told us earlier, about what Avatar Aang said, I was so happy for you, but at the same time–”

Korra hugs her tight, cutting her off. Her mother shakes with sobs, burying her face in the sleeve of her anorak. When they finally, slowly pull apart, Senna wipes her face with the fur lining of her sleeve. “I wish you could stay,” she says miserably. “We’d make it possible for your friends to stay too. _All_ of them,” she emphasizes, looking back over the lake, to where Asami, Mako, and Bolin sit. And Tarrlok. 

Korra wipes her mom’s face gently. “I know,” she murmurs. “I wish I could too. I can’t tell you how much I do.”

Senna takes her arm, and they continue their slow walk around the lake. “Do you have to go back tomorrow morning?” she asks hopefully. “Maybe you could leave after a couple of weeks.”

“I wish I could, Mom,” Korra says quietly, again. She feels heavy inside all of a sudden, and not just from the food. “It’s just that… Tenzin and I, we were talking about it earlier, and the situation in Republic City still isn’t really stable. Amon is gone now, but the Equalist movement is still alive, and we need to deal with that. Amon also apparently said that movements like the Equalist movement in Republic City are gaining strength in the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation, and we don’t want that to happen. I mean, some benders were killed in the Fire Nation not too long ago.” She winces. “Tenzin said that we have a lot of work ahead of us. And after what Avatar Aang told me today, I’m still part of the _us._ Actually, Tenzin says that I’m the key part of  it.”

Her mom smiles through her tears, squeezing her hand. “I know you’ll do great things, sweetheart. I’m proud of you. Your father and I are so proud of you. We always have been, and we always will be.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Korra stops, turning to face her mother, and puts her hands on both of her shoulders, looking at her firmly. “No matter how busy I am, no matter what, I’ll always be–” Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. “I’ll always, _always_ be your kid first. I’m going to come back to visit in a month, okay? I promise.”

Her mom embraces her, and they stay like that for a long time. When they pull apart, it’s Senna’s turn to wipe the tears from her daughter’s cheeks, careful not to smudge Korra’s war paint. “Come on,” she says, taking her hand. “Let’s head back. I think the fireworks are going to start soon…" 

-

Their ship back to Republic City had been scheduled to leave in the morning, but it takes longer than anticipated for everybody to wake up and get ready to depart after last night’s celebration. The party had gone on until the early hours of the morning, and become more and more exuberant with every hour that passed. 

It is early evening by the time they say their farewells on the dock. Tenzin’s children cling to Katara, begging her to come visit Republic City - or, better yet, just get on the ship with them _right now_ and come to live on Air Temple Island. Naga and Sitka reluctantly go into the ship’s hold, after being bribed with several extremely large bones. Mako, Bolin, and Asami, still in their Water Tribe coats, hug her parents and ask them to come to Republic City soon, and Korra watches, amused. She has no idea why her parents didn’t have any more kids after her, but they’re so fond of her friends that they might as well be their honorary kids. 

To her surprise, her mom and Tarrlok clasp hands for one brief second. Tarrlok nods at her dad, and after a few tense moments, Tonraq grudgingly inclines his head a fraction of an inch. It’s not much, but it’s way more than Korra had expected. Her parents hold her close and murmur Water Tribe blessings over her head, and too soon, she’s standing on the deck of the ship as it moves out to sea, waving until her arm hurts, and watching her parents and Master Katara grow smaller and smaller with the distance.

Pema comes up behind her, and touches her on the shoulder. "It’s all right,” she says reassuringly, when Korra turns toward her. “You’ll be back before you know it, and you know your parents are always welcome on Air Temple Island.”

Korra sighs, and gives her a rueful smile. For some reason, Pema can always read her mind. “It’s just so weird,” she says. “Until yesterday afternoon, I thought… I mean, part of me thought that I’d never be the Avatar again, and that I would probably go back home for good, to live a normal life, and do…whatever non-benders in the South Pole do. Now, I’m on my way back to Republic City, and Tenzin says that I’ll have even more Avatar duties than I had before." 

"I know. I can’t imagine what a tough adjustment that must be.” Pema’s eyes soften, as she looks up at her. “But you’re strong. You’ll get through it. And remember, you always have us." 

Korra smiles at her, and reaches out to brush her fingers against the sleeping baby Rohan’s soft hair. "Thank you." 

She spends the rest of the evening playing card games and talking with her friends, the four of them lounging in the hold with Naga and Sitka. This is the first chance they’ve had to just relax and hang out since way back before Amon and the Equalists attacked the pro-bending arena, which was forever ago. It’s nice. It feels good. Her spirits lift a little at the thought that even though Mako and Bolin will return to their police duties, and Asami will step into her dad’s former position as CEO of Future Industries, they’ll still have this to look forward to. Spending time with each other, training, maybe going for drives or to the beach. 

The airbender kids join them after dinner, and despite the fact that Mako claims it would be impossible to play a good game of hide-and-seek on a ship, they do it anyway. Until Meelo climbs into a barrel of pickles, at least, and Tenzin looks as if he’s about to cry, and sends them all to bed. _Hide-and-seek on a ship? This is the most ludicrous idea I ever heard! Mako, I expected that you would have talked some sense into these people, really–_

Korra tries to sleep, she really does, but she can’t help but toss and turn restlessly. There are a million things on her mind, it’s stuffy in here with the cabin window closed, and Jinora’s talking in her sleep, mumbling something about volcanoes. She slides out of her bunk noiselessly, and pads to the door, slipping outside and closing it behind her without a sound.

The sea air is as sharp and refreshing as it always is, and Korra closes her eyes, breathing in. She can’t be on a boat, now, without thinking back to when Tarrlok had dragged her to the Earth Kingdom. Or to their journey back to Republic City, equally nerve-wracking, but for entirely different reasons. 

There are no clouds in the dark night sky. She spares a moment to admire the millions of stars glittering overhead, before making her way down the side of the ship, in the direction opposite Pema and Tenzin’s cabin. Korra pauses, startled, as she rounds the corner. Tarrlok leans against the railing, his back to her. He’s looking up at the sky, like she had just been - at the full moon, shining bright and silver. 

Tarrlok is lost in thought enough that he doesn’t notice her presence until she’s right behind him, and Korra tugs lightly on his ponytail. His reaction is priceless - he spins around in total distress, hand flying to his hair defensively. "Oh, it’s you,” he sighs, relieved. “I thought it was Meelo." 

Korra grins, making a mental note to ask Meelo if he had done anything - or tried to do anything - to Tarrlok’s hair that would justify such a reaction. "Nope, your precious hair is safe.”

She steps close and hugs him. Tarrlok tenses up in surprise, but then he hugs her back tightly, and she feels him exhale, long and slow. It’s the first time they’ve been able to be this close to each other since the day that she had lost her bending, and it feels good. Like coming home to the South Pole and Republic City had felt. 

“Congratulations,” he says, letting go of her, although they stay close. “I’m happy for you.”

He clearly means it; she can sense the sincerity in his words. Korra smiles, looking up at him. “Thanks. It’s still hard,” - she gestures over the water, nodding at its lack of response to her movement, and Tarrlok looks back at her with understanding that nobody else has been able to offer. “But I’ll get through it. We both will. You know…” She hesitates. “I don’t know if you heard, but Aang told me - well, he kind of implied - that the whole loss of bending thing may not be permanent.”

“I did.” Tarrlok frowns, looking thoughtful. “What he said might have just applied to you. You’re the Avatar, after all. You carry the Avatar Spirit.”

“Maybe. But I’m not so sure." 

Korra isn’t just saying it to make him feel better, but when Tarrlok looks out over the sea again, he stands a little taller, and seems a little more hopeful. It’s good to see, and she rests her hands on the railing, feeling the breeze toss her hair. "So,” she begins curiously. “What were you talking to Master Katara about while we were leaving? She told you to call her if you needed any help with your _plans._ ”

Tarrlok glances over at her, and for the first time in a long time, she catches a glimpse of a teasing look in his eye. “I’m remodeling my house.”

Korra aims a playful kick at his shins. “Okay, fine, don’t tell the truth, _loser._ ” Then a thought occurs to her, and she stops dead, crossing her arms. “Wait. Are you leaving?”

“Leaving where?”

“Leaving Republic City, _duh.”_ The thought had never occurred to her that Tarrlok would leave - he loves Republic City as much as she does - but why else would Master Katara have been talking about plans? Was she helping him arrange to go to the Northern Water Tribe or something? Kya lives there, and she’s an influential figure, maybe she’s going to work it out with the chief–

“No,” Tarrlok says hastily. “I’m not. I thought about it, but - I’m not." 

Korra lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "Good,” she replies grumpily. “I don’t want you to go somewhere and have people recognize you and then attack you, or something.”

Tarrlok looks torn between being touched and amused. As always, though, he decides to be a pain about it. “Thank you for your concern about my well-being.”

“But you’re not going to tell me what your plans are?”

Tarrlok hesitates, and Korra sighs. “It’s fine. You don’t have to. You’re still thinking about it. I get it.”

He pats her on the shoulder. “What about you?”

Korra cracks her knuckles. “I’m moving to the Fire Nation to become a professional boxer.”

For a second, Tarrlok actually believes it. She sees it in his eyes, and bursts into laughter. “Very funny,” he replies, trying and failing to keep a disapproving expression on his face.

“Seriously, though,” she says, prodding him in the ribs. “I’m going to join Tenzin and the rest of the council and try and find a way to stabilize the city. We’re also going to work with representatives in the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation regarding the Equalist movements in their countries." 

"I thought as much.” Tarrlok frowns again. “If you can, please avoid making any public appearances in Republic City and abroad, at least for the next year. Who knows how many crazed Equalists want to finish what Noat–their leader started." 

"Yeah.” Korra rubs the back of her neck. From what she’s heard, the Order of the White Lotus has already started conferring on how to ramp up her protection. Not just from Equalists, but from radical bending traditionalists who might want to kill her off, so that a new, “unbroken,” Avatar can be born. It’s something that she doesn’t even want to think about. Just listening to her dad, Master Katara, and Tenzin discussing it had made her feel a little sick. 

“Oh,” she adds, trying to change the subject, because Tarrlok looks as worried as she feels. “Also, Asami and I are going to move into our own place!”

Tarrlok’s eyes widen. “You’re leaving Air Temple Island? Is that safe?”

Korra nods. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. We were talking about it earlier today. Mako and Bolin want to get an apartment on the mainland, closer to the police station. There aren’t any apartments in that area big enough for all four of us to share, so Asami suggested that her and I look for a place near the council building. Since I’ll have to be there a lot,” she finishes unhappily. 

“Near the council building,” Tarrlok muses. “That’s prime real estate. I looked into it myself, a few years ago. I can give you some numbers.”

“That would be _awesome_ ,” Korra says emphatically. “Something with a backyard for Naga would be great. And from what Asami said, price isn’t an issue.”

“Living on your own for the first time,” Tarrlok muses, looking as if he’s reminiscing about something. “It’s going to be quite an adventure. Enjoy it." 

Korra snorts. "It’s not the first time, remember?” she says dryly, fighting the urge to laugh at the look on his face. “Although it is the first time with someone who doesn’t suck.”

Tarrlok puts a hand to his chest and affects a pained expression. “You wound me, Avatar Korra." 

They lapse into a comfortable silence, standing beside one another and staring out over the water. Finally, Tarrlok clears his throat. "I know you’ll be busy with moving to your new residence and work, but I don't…” He hesitates, fumbling with his words in an uncharacteristic manner, and even in the dark, she can see how he turns red. “May I call you? After things settle down?”

Korra bites the inside of her cheek. She had known this was coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier. “Actually,” she says, trying not to stammer. “I - I - I think I need a break, Tarrlok. Not because of you,” she says hastily, her shoulders slumping. She has to stare at the ocean, because the thought of looking into his face is too hard. “It’s just that…so much has happened in the past few months, the past year, and it’s been really hard on me. I just need some time.”

The silence that follows only lasts a few seconds, but it feels unbearable. She hears, rather than sees, Tarrlok sigh. “You’re right,” he says slowly, and the words surprise her so much that she turns sharply toward him. Instead of hurt or anger, there’s only understanding and compassion in his face. “That would be best. I think I would benefit from that too. Time to think about the future and plan for it, and to…to grieve, I suppose.”

Korra blinks away the sudden, ridiculous tears, and looks up at him. “Thank you for understanding,” she says. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I don’t." 

She trails off, and Tarrlok nods. After a moment, he reaches out and places a tentative hand on hers. "All I want is for you to be well and happy,” he admits, so quiet she can hardly hear him over the waves breaking on the side of the boat. “Whether that means you’re with me, or alone, or with - with Tahno or some other obnoxious pro-bender–”

Korra laughs, though the movement almost makes the tears spill over. “Tahno? Really?”

“I would hope you’d have better taste than that,” Tarrlok sniffs. “But - you understand what I’m saying.”

“I do.” On impulse, Korra moves close and hugs him, burying her head in the fur collar of his anorak. He wraps his arms around her, pressing his cheek to her hair. “I’ll always love you,” she says, willing her voice to remain steady, and for her eyes to hold onto her tears until she’s alone. “No matter what happens. I want you to know that, even if I get killed by some bending fundamentalist or Equalist, or I go insane and marry Tahno. No matter what, you’ll always be important to me.”

She feels the hitched sob that Tarrlok holds back, and that almost breaks her. When he speaks, though, he manages to hold onto his composure. “And you will, to me. I’m hardly an influential person anymore, but if you ever, ever need anything, I will always be there for you.”

They release one another, stepping apart, and though part of Korra just wants to take it back and jump into his arms again, she stays put, and manages a small smile. “See you around, Tarrlok,” she says, slugging him on the shoulder. “Maybe we can have a playdate for Naga and Sitka at the park sometime.”

Tarrlok smiles, though it takes an effort. His eyes are reddened, and he looks so exhausted. “I would like that.”

He leaves, after one look back, and once Korra is sure that she’s alone, she sits on the deck, and gives into her tears.

-

The battle with the Order of the White Lotus, Tenzin, and her dad rages on for weeks, but finally - after Master Katara makes a few phone calls - the plan to move out of Air Temple Island is officially finalized. Tarrlok delivers on his promise to give her and Asami some real estate information, and Korra, Mako, Bolin, and Asami spend hours assuring the distraught airbending kids that they will visit regularly. “Like, all the time,” Bolin promises, blowing his nose loudly into one of Asami’s handkerchiefs, and looking rather tearful. “You won’t even know we’re gone.”

The first house-warming party takes place in Mako and Bolin’s apartment next to the police station. “There are no spider-roaches here!” Bolin yells, as he and Meelo jump on his and Mako’s new sofa with glee. “Not a single one!” Pabu chitters in approval, from Ikki’s shoulder.

“Look at the kitchen! Look at this counter space!” Mako practically beams as he places their order from Quingdao’s, the Fire Nation eatery across the street, on the table. “ _And_ it’s real granite.” Pema and Tenzin nod, impressed, while Korra and Asami giggle.

The second house-warming party is in Korra and Asami’s small house. Ikki and Jinora ooh and ahh at the expensive furniture, taken from Asami’s old place, Mako and Bolin present the crab puffs they had made themselves with a flourish, and ten Order of the White Lotus guards congregate in the living room and discuss the strong and weak points of security in the home. “I have a polar-bear dog,” Korra points out, as she hands everyone drinks. “That’s all the security we need. Anyone who tries to break in is getting _eaten_. Right, Naga?”

Naga barks in assent from the backyard, rolling over under the moon-peach tree. Later that evening, Tarrlok stops by for just a couple of minutes, staying on the front porch, and brings them a few mint plants as a gift. 

Slowly, as the months pass, they settle into a new routine. Mako and Bolin work long hours, trying to contain the stray bands of Equalists that are still active in the city - spray-painting walls and buildings, threatening known benders, or chi-blocking or using lightning sticks on benders walking home late at night. Asami steps into the role of CEO of Future Industries, works late into the night trying to puzzle out the company’s finances, and glares daggers at anyone who suggests that she visit her father in jail. 

Korra is busier than she’s ever been. Every night, she falls into bed dead tired, and is asleep a few minutes after her head hits the pillow. One of the things she likes about the new place is that there is a phone in her bedroom and Asami’s, not just the kitchen, and once a week or so, she can stretch out on her bed at night and talk to her parents. 

“I heard there was a huge power outage in Republic City earlier this week,” her dad says now, voice made a little fuzzy by the distance. “Was your place affected?”

“No, thankfully.” Korra twirls the cord around her finger. “Mako and Bolin’s was, though, so they came over. It was great - we played this board game called Settlers of the Earth Kingdom. You and Mom should see if they have it at the market down there.”

“We’ll check it out. If I have to play Diplomacy one more time, my head might explode.” Her dad laughs. “How has work been?”

Korra flops back on the bed and puts her foot on the wall, contemplating a new bruise that had formed there after a recent sparring match. “It’s been okay. A while ago, we decided on re-forming the city council and adding a representative for non-benders, so the election process for that just started, but it’ll take, like, weeks for the city to narrow it down to two candidates. And then there’s going to be the actual election process between the two candidates. There are tons of candidates in the running, and some are more radical than others.”

“Hmm,” Tonraq replies dubiously. “Republic City should take more care in the quality of people it elects. I’m not sure I trust the people’s judgment.”

Korra rolls her eyes affectionately. Over dinner in the South Pole, her dad and Tenzin had complained for hours about politics in Republic City. “Well, hopefully everything works out all right, and we don’t end up with someone who hates compromise on the council. Someone like Amon, basically. My meetings with the construction, electricity, water company people about equalizing hiring and retention rates for benders and non-benders went really well, though!" 

"Congratulations, Korra.” Her dad’s voice is warm. “You sound like you’re accomplishing a lot.”

“Well, I hope so,” she replies, pushing the curtain aside and looking out the window. Even at night, the streets are quiet nowadays, which is definitely a good sign. “I mean, from what Mako and Bolin say, there are less Equalists running around the city these days. So either they just got tired and gave up, or some of them are satisfied with what’s been going on in Republic City.”

“I hope they’re satisfied. You’re trying,” her dad says firmly. “Change can’t be affected in half a year. It’ll take time. These people in the Fire Nation–”

Korra grimaces, turning and glancing at the discarded newspaper on her nightstand. Equalist splinter groups had maimed two firebenders just last week, and there had been another earthbender murdered in Ba Sing Se the previous month. 

“I’m going to have to make a trip to the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation eventually, Dad,” she says. “To meet with the Earth Queen and her policymakers, and the Fire Lord. I know the Fire Lord is cool, but what I’ve heard of the Earth Queen, not so much.”

She can imagine her dad frowning. “Just be careful, Korra.”

“I’m always careful,” she says cheerfully. “By the way, I was in a boxing match last weekend!”

That distracts him, as she knew it would, and they talk for the next half hour, until it’s time for her parents to eat dinner in the South Pole. As soon as Korra hangs up the phone, she hears a soft knock on her door, and looks over to see Asami standing in her doorway. “Hey,” she waves. “Come in." 

Asami hands her one thick envelope, and sits down beside her. "That came in the mail for you. If it’s more hate mail from that idiotic bending fundamentalist group, I’m going to design an exploding pen and send it back to them.”

Korra takes one look at the return address on the envelope and grins. “Nah, the hate mail comes to my office or Tenzin’s at the council building. Maybe next time. This is from Emi and Roumei, see? Mail from Shanying, in the Earth Kingdom, is always good mail." 

"Oh, good. And speaking of good mail…” Asami holds up the letter in her hand and smiles, the corner of her eyes crinkling with happiness. “Guess what’s going to wipe out Future Industries’ debt?”

Korra gasps, sitting up straight. “Did the mansion finally sell?”

Asami claps her hands in delight. “It did! For the asking price! I didn’t think it would happen.”

“Who bought it? Ugh, I hope it’s not that new guy in town, Varrick. Beifong hates him.”  

Asami frowns down at the letter. “Actually, this says that the buyer has chosen to remain anonymous. Anyway, I guess I’ll see whoever it is when I go down there to sign the papers tomorrow.”

“Be careful,” Korra replies, eyeing the letter. “I don’t trust Varrick either. He definitely seems shady to me.”

“Actually, do you want to come? I thought maybe we could all go, and get some lunch afterward, since Mako and Bolin don’t have to work until later that afternoon.”

“Great!” Korra grabs her pillow and gives it an enthusiastic squeeze. “Hey, maybe we can try that new fusion place. I heard they have great bubble teas…”

-

Mako and Bolin get to their house on time the next morning, Mako exasperatedly dragging along a sleepy, yawning Bolin, even though it’s half an hour until noon. “Polar bear-dog or satomobile?” Mako asks. “And hey, I _told_ you that staying up until four AM was a bad idea.”

“You’re a bad idea,” Bolin grumbles. “And you don’t understand how thrilling the Flameo Hotman comics are, I keep telling you. Can Naga even hold all four of us? We don’t want to sprain her back or anything." 

Korra beams proudly out the window at her animal companion, who is munching stolidly on her morning meal of squid from Yue Bay. "Naga bulked up while she was in the South Pole, and trust me, it’s all solid muscle. She can handle it.”

All four of them clamber aboard the polar bear-dog, Mako and Asami clutching onto each other for dear life, while behind Korra, Bolin yelps with delight. With one pat on her neck, Naga sets off at a run, completely unfazed by their weight. The cool morning air feels good on her face, and Korra admires the city as it speeds by. Things are already a little bit better than they were six months ago, and she can’t wait to see Republic City restored to its former glory, like how it was when Avatar Aang was still alive.

It doesn’t take long for Naga to skid to a stop in front of what had been the Sato mansion. “Whoa,” Mako says, jumping down from Naga, and holding out his hand to help the rest of them dismount. “It looks pretty busy here.”

All the numerous doors and windows of the Sato mansion are thrown open, and what looks like a couple of teams of construction workers swarms around the building. Korra shakes her head in amazement. “Are they going to tear it down?” It seems like a waste to her, when she thinks of the grandeur inside, and the countless incredibly fancy rooms. 

“I hope they do,” Asami says, shading her eyes, and looking at her former home. “This place has seen a lot of pain. Excuse me,” she calls, to a nearby construction worker, who had been surveying the front lawn. “Do you know if the buyer is here? Or their agent?”

“They’re both inside. I’ll send them right out to you, miss.”

The construction worker has only been gone for a minute or two when what appears to be a whirlwind of white fluff comes tearing out of the front door and rushes across the front yard to them. Bolin screeches and almost leaps into Mako’s arms, and Naga barks in excited recognition, standing up and wagging her tail. 

“Sitka!” Korra yelps, confusion mingling with her happiness. The dog jumps on her, licking her hands, and she grins, sinking to her knees and giving her a hug. “Sitka! What are you doing here?”

“Sitka?” Asami looks around, seeming just as confused as she feels. “But that means–”

The four of them look up in unison, and to Korra’s astonishment, Tarrlok is walking toward them, accompanied by the same real estate guy who had helped her and Asami find their house, and an older woman. “Tarrlok?” Korra asks incredulously. She hasn’t seen him since her housewarming, months ago. 

To her surprise and relief, he looks okay. Slightly thinner than he had been before, and tired, but all right overall. He smiles at her warmly. “Hello, Avatar Korra, and friends." 

"Good morning. You’re the one who’s buying my house?” Asami stares at him, perplexed, while Mako mumbles a grudging greeting.

Bolin, on the other hand, immediately steps forward and takes Tarrlok’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically. “Congratulations on the house! Let me tell you, that pool is _fantastic._ It’s heated and everything.”

“I thought you already had a house,” Mako says suspiciously, but he bends and scratches Sitka behind the ear nevertheless. 

“I do. If you still allow me to go through with the purchase, Miss Sato, this isn’t for my personal residence." 

"What is it for?” Korra asks curiously, staring at him. Suddenly, she remembers the mysterious plans Tarrlok had referred to while they had been on their way back to Republic City, from the South Pole. 

Tarrlok takes a deep breath, evidently figuring that there’s no dodging the question this time around. “Well,” he begins, a little self-consciously. “I intend on converting it into a - a shelter, of sorts. For youth in difficult family situations, and for women experiencing struggles at home. It’s quite spacious, you see.” He brightens somewhat, gesturing at the mansion’s east wing. “That one wing alone has twice as much space as the city’s orphanage. There’s space for schoolrooms in the other wing and on the ground floor, and the outdoor areas could be used for play.”

Mako, Asami, and Bolin all look as shocked as if someone had just slapped them on the face with a wet fish. Korra bites the inside of her cheek, fighting the tears that threaten to fill her eyes. It’s just the kind of place that he and Noatak needed, that their mother needed, thirty years ago. She looks at Tarrlok, and a silent understanding passes between them. “That sounds amazing,” she says, with feeling. “I think…I think it’s a great idea.”

Tarrlok inclines his head. “It’s a need that - not enough people discuss, I think. I have an office in the city where I will handle the administration, and Zhilan here will help manage the day-to-day running of the home.”

The older woman, Zhilan, bows to her deeply. “It is an honor to meet you, Avatar Korra.”

When Zhilan straightens, Korra can see the terrible scar on one side of her face; the puckered, jagged flesh running from her temple to her jawbone, straight down one of her cheeks. It looks like an old knife wound, and she has to stop herself from shuddering at the horror the woman must have experienced. She bows in return. “The honor is mine, Zhilan." 

"Well,” Bolin says abruptly, looking at Tarrlok. “I see that you have some guys here already, but if you need any construction work, any earthbending or metalbending work done, you can call me. Mako and I actually have a phone now. We’re in the phone book and everything." 

Mako clears his throat. "Electrical work, as well,” he says gruffly. “I used to work at the power plant.”

“Thank you,” Tarrlok says sincerely. “I appreciate it.”

“I’m happy to see that this place is going to be put to good use.” Asami nods at the real estate agent, and pulls a pen from her pocket. “I’m ready to sign the papers if you are.”

The entire business is finished quickly, and Tarrlok and Asami shake hands on the deal. “Good luck,” she tells him. “I’ll keep this organization in mind when Future Industries is in a better place, financially speaking." 

"Thank you. And good luck to you on your business endeavors, Miss Sato." 

After Mako, Bolin, and Asami head off to find Naga, who is eating grass on the far side of the lawn, Korra lingers for a moment. "I’m happy for you,” she says quietly, looking around to make sure that the real estate guy and Zhilan are safely back inside the mansion. “What you’re doing… Your mom would be so proud. I think Noatak would, too.”

Tarrlok blinks a few times. “That means a great deal to me.” He hesitates. “Congratulations on all the work you’ve been doing, by the way. I don’t know if you read them, but the newspapers are very complimentary.”

“That’s good,” Korra replies, relieved. “And hey, Tarrlok - are you okay? With, you know, everything?”

He smiles a little. “A little better every day,” he says, and she can hear the genuineness in his voice. “And you?”

“I’m good. Better than good, actually. I’m pretty happy–”

“Korra!” Bolin bellows, from across the yard. Asami covers her face in mortification. “We’re hungry! We’re dying here!”

She and Tarrlok both laugh. “Well, I don’t want your friends to die,” he says, straight-faced. “I’ll let you go.”

For a second, Korra wants to move in for a hug, but then she remembers that there are people all around them and they’re kind of broken up anyway. She slugs him on the shoulder instead. “See you around, Tarrlok,” she says, turning away. She pretends she didn’t notice the fond expression that had touched his face when she punched him, or the way her hand tingles, all the way until she and her friends finally get to the restaurant. 

-

Korra’s nineteenth birthday falls at the end of a month-long diplomatic trip to the Fire Nation to discuss the Equalist movement there; her first ever official solo trip as the Avatar. She celebrates in the company of the former Fire Lord Zuko, the current Fire Lord, his daughter Honora, and Prince Iroh. Instead of a formal dinner, they have a picnic in front of the turtleduck lake in the royal gardens, and Zuko tells stories that leave them all nearly choking on their food with laughter. 

She sets off for Republic City the next morning, and thanks to Lily the air bison, on loan from Tenzin, Korra reaches the city by the following afternoon. She drops Lily off at Air Temple Island, gets mobbed by the airbending kids, and fed a tremendous belated birthday lunch by Pema.

“I am going into a food coma,” Korra groans, staggering out the door, and rubbing her stomach. “I think I’m going to die. At least I’ll die happy and full of cake, though." 

"Oh, dear.” Pema follows, concerned. “Why don’t you stay and take a nap? It’s your first day back, anyway, and you don’t want to overexert yourself.”

“I wish. I have to report to the council about how my trip went in an hour, though.” Korra sighs. “After that, I’m definitely taking a nap at my desk. And Meelo,” she yells,  in the general direction of where the boy is turning rapid-fire cartwheels. “If I get back there and find that you put another one of those gross whoopee cushions in my office, I _swear_ –”

Meelo giggles manically, and Pema laughs, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Take care, sweetie.”

The trip back to the mainland doesn’t take long, and Korra has enough time to rush into her office and unload her travel pack there. The second she throws the door open and crosses the threshold, she stops dead, stunned. “Whoa.”

Nianzu, the elderly council page she shares with Tenzin, looks up and smiles at her. “Welcome back, Avatar Korra.”

Korra drops her travel pack on the ground numbly. “Hey, Nianzu. What is all this?”

Her office is _covered_ with flowers. Flower arrangements of every conceivable shape and size rest on the desk, on the floor, on her bookshelf, and there are even a couple on her chair. There’s a statue, an actual statue, of a polar bear-dog in the middle of the room, and there’s an assortment of miscellaneous pro-bending posters, sports equipment, and weapons scattered around it. 

Korra points at the corner of the office with a finger that shakes slightly. “And that’s a fountain. With _fish_ in it." 

Nianzu looks amused by her predicament. "Birthday gifts, Avatar Korra,” he explains. “They’ve been arriving all week, from all around the world. The Fire Nation, the Earth Kingdom, the South Pole, the Air Temples… The statue came with the compliments of Master Kya, Chief Kontak, and the people of the Northern Water Tribe. Isn’t it lovely?" 

"Oh, spirits.” Korra moves a pot of daises off her chair, and then collapses into it. She’s touched and overwhelmed all at the same time. “All of this is for me? I can’t believe it.”

“Well,” Nianzu says gently. “You should believe it. It appears that you’ve made quite the impression on many, many people.” He comes around and opens one of her desk drawers, and Korra finds herself confronted with one of the biggest boxes of chocolates she has ever seen. “That came from your friends in the Earth Kingdom, Mrs. Emi and Mrs. Roumei. It was half melted by the time it arrived, but some time in the ice box set it right.”

“Thanks, Nianzu.” Korra grins at the card on top of the box, the envelope addressed to Avatar Korra, in Emi’s familiar handwriting. “You should try some. The hollow ones with cream in the middle are amazing.”

Something on her desk catches her eye, and Korra tilts her head, carefully reaching into the forest of flowers on the desk. She pulls out a pair of boxing gloves, brand new and shiny black, and touches them, marveling at the padding and the high quality. They even _smell_ good, nice and leathery. 

“I would have put those with the other sports things, but that one came without a note or card,” Nianzu says apologetically. “I assumed that one of your friends dropped it off.”

Korra slips her hand into one of the gloves and flexes, admiring how perfect the fit is. It’s nicer than any other boxing gloves she’s ever worn. “Yeah,” she says quietly, thinking back to her birthday a year ago, and a trip to an underground boxing arena in a small Earth Kingdom city. “You were right.”

-

Tarrlok rises early on the morning of his birthday, as he always does, even though it falls on a weekend this year. He combs his hair and gets dressed and ready for the day, even as Sitka prances around him in anticipation of their daily morning walk along the coastline.

After a quick breakfast for both of them, he opens his door and finds a clumsily wrapped package, tied in string, resting on the porch. There is no note attached to it. Tarrlok pushes Sitka back, momentarily fearing some kind of homemade explosive, courtesy of an Equalist splinter group–

Then he notices the abnormally large paw prints on his lawn, damp from the night’s rain. His fear evaporating, Tarrlok takes the package and brings it inside, the clumsy wrapping and lopsided bow on the string taking on an entirely different light. Korra’s hands had touched this, and undoubtedly tried to make it look more presentable than it ultimately turned out.

There is no note, but there is a book inside, a brand-new thriller that has been on the top of the Earth Kingdom Times’ best-seller list for weeks. And there is lily-scented shampoo and hair conditioner, imported from the Fire Nation.

He holds the book close to his chest and stands there for a long time.

-

“Tenzin, don’t look at me like that. I am not going to blow up your office. And I am _not_ going to plant any of Meelo’s whoopee cushions here.”

Tenzin sighs and holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine. Thank you, Korra, and I’ll be back soon. I don’t know why the finance director insisted on meeting with me today, of all days…" 

He sweeps out of the office in a whirl of yellow-and-red robes, closing the door behind him, and Korra rolls her eyes at his back. Nianzu the page is out sick today, and Tenzin is expecting some super confidential correspondence regarding some funny business that the Republic City attorney’s office may or may not be up to. So here she is, waiting for the confidential correspondence, which is going to be dropped off in the guise of a noodle takeout delivery.

Korra leans back in the chair and heaves a mighty sigh, putting her feet up on Tenzin’s desk and grabbing today’s Republic City Times. The cover story, taking up most of the front page, features the newly elected non-bender representative to the city council, Shao Shanyuan - also known as Amon’s former lieutenant. He’s still sporting the awful mustache, but he seems to have undergone a change of heart in other matters, vowing to be more focused on compromise and working with "the bending establishment” to affect positive, nonviolent change and true equality.

She flips through the pages of the paper, searching. During a rare moment of free time, Mako had called her from the police station earlier. “There’s something that you’re going to find interesting in today’s paper,” he said mysteriously. “Also, that thing with the invisible chalk was _not_ cool. Bye.” He had hung up before she could ask him any more questions, probably as revenge for the invisible chalk prank. 

Korra finds it on page six, and she drops the paper on the desk, startled. A slow smile spreads across her face as she reads the headline, and then continues on to the story.

The article profiles the former Sato mansion, now the Atka Shelter for Women and Children, serving Republic City and the surrounding areas. There are two pictures attached, one that shows several young children playing in an on-site playground, and one that shows the children attending lessons in a schoolroom. All of them look rested and well-fed, Korra notices, and they’re dressed in clean clothing that fits. 

The journalist who had written the story interviewed Zhilan, who said that women and children were welcome to come to the spacious shelter at any time of the day or night - and that parents who had “difficulty caring for their children, for whatever reasons,” were able to anonymously surrender the children at the shelter, without fear of consequences. _We’re working on a system in which people can telephone us, and we can send transportation out to meet them safely. This would enable us to help those people who live far away, or are otherwise unable to come to the shelter doors._

_The mission of the Atka Shelter is to reduce domestic abuse and abuse of children,_ the journalist writes. _The identity of the anonymous benefactor who purchased the million-yuan Sato mansion and converted the mansion into this shelter remains unknown. Nobody affiliated with the shelter is breathing a word - undoubtedly due to strict nondisclosure agreements. However, Zhilan Hsu hinted that the person responsible for this endeavor may be the eccentric Omashu billionaire and world-renowned philanthropist, Tuan Trinh…_

Korra stops reading there, and lightly touches the photo of the children playing. For some reason, she remembers Noatak, and then, with difficulty, she puts the thought out of her mind. _I hope you grow up healthy and happy,_ she thinks, looking at the kids on the playground. _All of you._

For a while, she sits in silence, before closing the newspaper and putting her feet up on the desk again. The sound of the phone ringing shatters the silence, and Korra jumps. The perfect idea occurs to her, and she grabs the phone off the receiver, holding it to her ear. “City morgue,” she says, in a deep voice. “You kill ‘em, we chill 'em.”

“What?” A very confused voice asks. “Korra? Is that you?”

Korra nearly drops the phone. “Tarrlok? Uh, yeah, it’s me. How did you recognize my voice?”

“How am I not supposed to recognize your voice?” he asks wryly. “Does Tenzin know you’ve taken control of his office?”

“Yeah, actually.” Korra gives the door a sheepish look. “I would give the phone to him, but he’s not here. He’s at some meeting.”

“I see,” Tarrlok replies. “I should have told him that I would be calling.”

Korra spins around in the chair, intrigued by the idea of Tenzin and Tarrlok talking for any reason. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to inquire about whether there’s any room in the city budget for the Atka Shelter. I have my own funds, of course, but we’re hoping to start an initiative for transportation…”

“I know, I read it in the paper just now.” Korra smiles. “It sounds great. But, uh, budget stuff, I think I had better leave that to Tenzin. He gave me the budget papers to look at a few weeks ago, and it did not go well.”

“I can imagine,” Tarrlok replies, sounding as if he’s trying to stifle a laugh. She has the feeling that he’s remembering the same thing she is - the time he once jokingly asked her if she knew what six times seven was, and she had replied, in all seriousness, _Fifty._ He hadn’t let her hear the end of that one for days, and now, he coughs, apparently trying to recover his composure. “When should I call back?" 

"This time tomorrow would be good, I guess. There’s some important …stuff…Tenzin’s going to be working on today." 

"I sense intrigue.” There’s a hint of longing in Tarrlok’s voice. “Is it the attorney’s office or the finance director? No, never mind, don’t say anything. It’s not safe.”

Korra hears a knock on the door - four sharp raps, like Tenzin had told her - and she sits up straight. “Oh, crap. I think the drop-off is happening.” It’s what Tenzin has been waiting for all day, and she’s curious too, but at the same time, she feels irritated and sad, a little, that she has to cut the unexpected conversation short.

“Be careful,” Tarrlok warns, and then he disconnects the line.

Korra receives the extra-large box of “noodles” from the delivery boy, who sweats profusely, and slips him an unsigned note from Tenzin. When the door is safely closed and locked behind her, she sits on the floor and peruses the correspondence, until she’s satisfied that Tenzin’s suspicions had been correct. Once that’s over, she puts the papers back in the box and locks it in the wall safe, as Tenzin had instructed.

Korra stands in the middle of the office for a few moments, feeling off balance somehow. Maybe it’s hunger. Maybe it’s not.

The papers secure, she wanders out of the office for some fresh air, and leans against the railing, lost in thought. She looks down at the main council room beneath her. It’s empty now, since everyone’s out to lunch, but with sudden clarity, Korra sees it, as it had been decades ago. She remembers Yakone’s trial, as Aang had shown her. Yakone had been sitting right there, just beneath her, in the third bench from the front and on the left side of the room, when he had attacked everyone in the room with his psychic bloodbending. 

Korra’s skin tingles. There’s history here, in this room, in this building. She lifts her gaze to the office right across from Tenzin’s, on the other side of the open courtroom. The office that she still thinks of as Tarrlok’s, where their horrible fight had taken place, now belongs to Miksa, the new representative of the Northern Water Tribe. The wall that she had once smashed through is whole and perfectly repaired. 

Absentmindedly, Korra touches her cheekbone, remembering the icicles that had cut her skin, and the scars that had lingered there. She had wondered if they would be permanent, like Lin’s, but one morning, she had looked in the mirror and noticed they had faded away into nothing. 

Korra looks down at the main council room, and she sees ghosts. A dark, cold night, her fists engulfed in flame, Tarrlok’s arms and hands drawn up in a rigid bloodbending stance, like a puppetmaster pulling the strings. He had been breathing heavily, raggedly, hair loose and disheveled, voice choked with rage, and she had been angrier than she ever had before. She remembers the wreckage all around them. They had been desperate, attacking one another to kill.

_I have seen the very worst of you,_ she thinks, staring at the room beneath her; at the place where they fought. _And I have seen the very best._ The light and the darkness, and every complicated shade of gray in between. _I understand exactly what you are._ She does, with perfect clarity. 

Korra stands there for a long time. She turns around and walks back into Tenzin’s office, shutting the door behind her. She sits down at the desk, picks up the phone, and hits the _redial_ button.

Tarrlok picks up the phone on the third ring, sounding as brisk and businesslike as ever. “Hello?" 

"Hi,” she says. “It’s me.”

“Korra.” His voice warms, and she can hear him setting something down, maybe a mug of tea. “Not doing impersonations this time, I see. I hope the drop-off went smoothly?”

“It did.” Korra takes a deep breath, holding it in for a second. “And hey, Tarrlok,” she says, before he can reply. “I was wondering if you wanted to get some tea sometime, after work. There’s this place across the street that has great bubble teas…" 

-

_the end._

_-_


End file.
